Rose and Saffron
by SamoaPhoenix9
Summary: Desperate to find a girl who can fall in love with him and break the spell, the Beast agrees to settle a man's debt by taking his daughter to live in his castle. But the girl who arrives is a complete-and unpleasant-surprise. Can the spell be broken?
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer: I do not own Beauty and the Beast._

 _Once upon a time in a faraway land, a young prince lived in a shining castle. Although he had everything his heart desired, the prince was cold, uncaring and selfish. One winter's night an old beggar woman came to the castle and offered him a single rose in return for shelter from the bitter cold. Repulsed by her haggard appearance, the prince sneered at the gift and turned the old woman away. But she warned him not to be deceived by appearances, for beauty is found within. And when he dismissed her again, the old woman's ugliness melted away to reveal a beautiful enchantress. The prince tried to apologize, but it was too late, for she had seen that there was no love in his heart. As punishment she transformed him into a hideous Beast and placed a powerful spell on the castle and all who lived there. Ashamed of his monstrous form, the Beast concealed himself inside his castle. The rose she had offered was truly an enchanted rose which would bloom for many years. If he could learn to love another, and earn her love in return by the time the last petal fell, then the spell would be broken. If not, he would be doomed to remain a Beast for all time. As the years passed, he fell into despair and lost all hope. For who could ever learn to love…a Beast?_

The Beast heard a light tap at his door. _That would be Jacques,_ he thought. After all these years, his sensitive ears knew the knock of every servant.

"Come in," he rumbled.

In came his steward, immaculate as usual. In his gloved hands he carried a piece of paper, every inch covered in writing.

"What's on the docket for today?" asked the Beast. Jacques handed over the paper, which the Beast held towards the window and tried not to tear holes in it with his claws. "I swear, Jacques, your handwriting gets smaller every year. Could you possibly have crammed more onto this paper?"

Jacques shrugged, a tiny smile on his mobile mouth. After ten years of being rendered mute by the same curse that had transformed his master into a Beast, Jacques had mastered the art of minute expressions and gestures speaking volumes. At least he wasn't invisible too, like all the other servants.

Despite his complaints about the handwriting, the Beast read the paper quickly. It was all fairly typical for this time of year: the harvest was nearly completed, they shouldn't have problems paying taxes this year, the peasants' yearly tributes were trickling in. The heavy spring rains had taken a lighter toll on their grain than anticipated. That was a relief; it was ten times harder ruling a territory, however small and insignificant, when you could never be seen by your people.

The Beast glanced at the rose, sitting carefully preserved under a glass bell jar, then back at the paper.

Wait. The Beast looked again. The paper fluttered to the floor.

"No!"

He rushed to the table but dared not lift the jar. "Do you see it, Jacques?"

Jacques nodded, his face unhappy. They stared at each other, then back at the rose. It was definitely looking droopy; a few of the pink petals at the bottom edge had started to curl and turn brown.

The Beast thought back. How long had it been since he'd looked closely at the rose? A week or two at least, perhaps longer? It had always stayed the same, though it lost one perfect petal every year on the anniversary of the curse. He hadn't really paid it that much mind for a long time, despite it theoretically being the thing that marked the time he had until the curse became permanent.

But now it definitely appeared to be dying. How long he had, he had no idea. It was certainly imminent now.

"I suppose this is it?" he said to Jacques. "The end of the road."

Jacques pursed one side of his mouth and tilted his head a little.

"I don't remember," the Beast answered. "I don't think she gave a specific deadline. But it must be coming close to ten years; I suppose the blasted thing got tired of waiting." He glared at it. "Go ahead! It's not as if anything is going to change. I'm still stuck here. I don't dare go out to look for a girl to break the curse, and I don't dare bring one in. Go ahead and wilt! I don't care anymore!" Belying his words, he picked up one of the small knickknacks from his desk and threw it against the wall. The bronze statue broke in half on impact and fell with a clatter.

The Beast slumped to the floor. After a moment he felt a hand on his shoulder. He flinched away with a grunt but the hand merely replaced itself. After a moment the Beast roused himself with a groan and a shake of his mane. "I thought I'd resigned myself to the curse never being broken," he said, half to himself. "I thought I'd learned to live with it. But now...now that there really is a deadline I realize I still had some hope. I've been such a fool."

There was a long silence. At last Jacques sighed loudly, one of the few sounds he was able to make. It wasn't impatience; the Beast could hear real sadness and disappointment.

"Any brilliant solutions we haven't thought of yet?" the Beast asked after another moment, twisting to look at Jacques. The steward shook his head.

"Well, keep thinking. Maybe one of us will pull out a miracle."

Jacques pulled a piece of paper out of a pocket. Going to the desk, he wrote, and then displayed, _Perhaps, sir, with an approaching deadline it will stimulate us to think of something that hadn't occurred to us before._

"You may be right," the Beast agreed. He climbed ponderously to his feet. "Well, it's no excuse to ignore the business of running the province. Things haven't stopped yet because we all fell under a curse, why should today be any different?" It came out more bitter than he intended.

Jacques looked sympathetic. He picked up the original paper he'd brought in with him from the floor and handed it over. The Beast continued reading until he got to the bottom. "Debtors' court cases? Jacques, I'm in no mood to deal with the peasants today, let alone the ones behind on their rent. Can't we postpone until tomorrow?"

 _The gaoler won't be pleased_. _He wants these men off his hands._

"Fine, fine. When does it begin?"

 _This afternoon._

"Make sure everything is set up as usual. I'll be in position after luncheon."

A nod, then Jacques tilted his head towards the door.

"Yes, you can go."

Once the door had closed behind his steward, the Beast sighed and ran a massive paw through his mane. There were many times when he wished he had just shut himself away in the castle, perhaps faked his own death or something similar, when the curse was first cast. Or perhaps run away to live in the woods like the wild animal that he was, and try to forget he'd ever been human. But if he had done nothing else, his father had instilled in him a sense of duty towards his land and its people. So instead of disappearing in shame as he wanted to do, between them he and Jacques and the invisible servants had worked out strategies so that the province could continue running and no one would suspect anything was wrong. They all agreed that if anyone found out about the Beast, they would almost certainly not believe he was really a human prince under a magic spell. They would correctly decide some sort of devilry was afoot, but the likely outcome would be the Beast would be hunted down as a dangerous predator. Or worse, burned to death as a demon from Hell. Thus, the difficulty with finding a girl to fall in love with him and break the curse.

As a Prince, he hadn't had too much interaction with the peasantry outside the castle. This worked to his advantage after the curse; no one thought it too unusual when they did not see their ruler for years on end. The average peasant likely would not have recognized the Prince's father when he was alive had he gotten out of his carriage and stood before them. However, there were times when it was necessary for him to actually govern them in person. Such as when he had to serve as the final arbiter of justice—to hear the case of a murderer or a thief, or, as today, a jailed debtor, and pass some kind of sentence.

For this, Jacques had solved the problem by putting up curtains around the throne in the throne room. They were made of a very fine material that was just transparent enough that people could see there was someone sitting on the throne but not too much detail. As long as the Beast wrapped himself in a heavy cloak (blazing hot as it was in the summer with his fur) and wore a crown to conceal the odd shape of the ox's horns sprouting from his brow, no one suspected the truth. Jacques had assured him that it looked very convincing from the rest of the room.

It certainly seemed to work. If they perhaps remarked amongst themselves on the oddness of speaking to their ruler through a curtain, it did not disturb the peasants overmuch beyond the novelty. And after nearly ten years of this arrangement, the Beast trusted that even the novelty had likely worn off. If there were whispers that perhaps he had been scarred in a horrific accident or disfigured with the pox, he did not particularly care to know. Such rumors were harmless enough.

The important thing for the ruse to work was that the Beast be in place long before anyone from outside the castle entered to meet with him. Thus after the midday meal he went to the throne room and with Jacques' help ensconced himself in cloak, crown and curtains until Jacques was satisfied with how it all looked from the outside.

Then Jacques went away to let the gaoler, his assistants, and the prisoners themselves into the castle. They would be led into the throne room one by one where the debts against them would be read aloud and they could speak in their own defense if they wished. For each case there would usually also be several people to whom the debtor owed money to verify exactly how much was owed and see how the debt would be settled by the Prince's judgment. Other people could come to witness if they wished, and sometimes family and friends of the debtor did, but the opportunity for spectacle was not as great as it was when the criminal trials were heard so there would be few folk coming for sport. There was too much work to do to waste a day listening to other people argue about money, especially since this was harvest time.

Fortunately there were only three cases to be heard today. The first two were fairly straightforward. They were heads of large families who had fallen on hard times. The fathers were set to work a certain amount of time for their debtors until their debts were paid while their wives and children were left to run their farms so the families wouldn't starve. The Beast privately thought perhaps the time of separation might temporarily prevent them from conceiving more children they couldn't afford. He doubted he would see either of these two men again once they got back on their feet.

When the name of the final case was read out, the Beast suppressed a sigh. Monsieur Gaston DuPont. Again. While he technically owned one of the local taverns, he was a perpetual drunk and was always underwater when it came to money. He never quite managed to dig himself out of debt, and then he'd end up hauled before the Prince.

This time he'd racked up an impressive amount; more than the Beast could ever remember from previous occasions. As he listened, the Beast began to doubt any of his usual punishments would begin to cover the money owed. What other solution could he possibly offer?

He remained silent, deep in thought, as the list ended and those owed who were present offered corroboration. DuPont himself said nothing. At last, the Beast shifted on his throne and said, "Monsieur DuPont. Again you are brought before me for debt, with seemingly no means of repayment."

"Yes, sire," agreed DuPont.

"It seems I have no choice then but to order you to sell your tavern or offer its ownership to those you owe the most to, then work off the rest of your debt by hiring yourself out as a common laborer—"

"No, sire!" To his surprise, the peasant dared interrupt him. "I won't sell my tavern. It has been in my family for generations."

"But if you cannot—"

"I have a daughter!" the man blurted.

"A daughter? What has that to do with—" The man had never mentioned a daughter before in all of his troubles.

"My daughter has many useful feminine skills. She can cook and clean and sew. I'll indenture her out to you. Surely her sale would bring enough money to cover my debts, and I would no longer have to provide for her as well as myself."

At first the Beast was horrified by the very idea. He couldn't have a girl, an uncursed girl, here, for any length of time! There were too many strange things for her not to notice, even if he kept himself from her sight. He certainly had enough servants, though DuPont would not know that.

But…his mind arrowed back to the wilting rose. There was so little time left. Very soon, he'd be trapped as a Beast forever. Might this girl offer the creative solution they'd been seeking? If she was legally indentured, she'd have to stay here, unable to spread the tale of a monster in the castle. He could keep her at least until he determined whether it was even possible for her to learn to love him. If not, he could easily sell her indenture papers to someone far away, enough that anything she told likely would not be believed. It was not a particularly good idea; many, many things could go wrong. But…he was desperate. This was possibly his last chance to get his humanity back.

For the millionth time he wished he could consult with Jacques while trapped behind this curtain, but they'd both agreed from the beginning that it should not be attempted. He was on his own.

"Very well," he finally said, deciding as he did so that he'd probably lost his mind. "Bring the girl here tomorrow, and we will have the indenture papers ready to sign and the money for your creditors. Is this agreeable to all?"

Murmurs of assent from both DuPont and those assembled. A skilled servant was a valuable asset, and the Beast would make sure the money would cover all of DuPont's debts. Perhaps then he wouldn't be back in debtor's court again for quite some time.

And perhaps his daughter could be the chance the Beast had been looking for all these years. The chance to find a woman who could love him and break the spell. Maybe it was possible. Maybe…

* * *

 _Author's Note: So here I am after all this time, back again with a new story. In case you're curious, this is going to be a blend of the Disney version, with elements of the original French tale, and a big daub of my own imagination._

 _I decided to play around with circumstances a bit, since people watching the Disney movie over the years have rightfully brought up the point that a prince disappears without a trace, his castle becomes dark and foreboding overnight and apparently deserted by all but the furniture, and…nobody noticed? Clearly there were people living nearby. So I thought, what if the Beast hid the curse as best he could and continued ruling instead of trying to disappear? Nobility at the time were educated with a sense of duty to those below them, even if they didn't particularly care about them. The prince could still be selfish, but not in the childish way the Beast in the movie is—here, he's an adult who just doesn't care much about the people around him. And because he'd kept up with human interaction, even peripherally, he didn't descend into the feral animal-like state that we first see in the movie. In order not to give himself away, he'd have to learn to control the Beast._

 _Yes, Gaston is Belle's father in this version. Bear with me. I have Reasons._

 _Historical Note: I'm actually not sure if they had indentured servants in 18_ _th_ _century France, but if I had to guess I'd say probably not, or if so, the practice was nowhere near as common as it was in the British Isles and colonies a century earlier. It was definitely on the way out in colonial America and the Caribbean, being largely replaced by chattel slavery of black Africans. I wasn't entirely comfortable with Gaston outright_ selling _his daughter to the Beast as the means to get her into the castle, so I did some historical fudging. The outcome is the same without using the distasteful word "slavery" (which, to be clear, is essentially what it was, it just had a time limit on the ownership instead of being a life sentence and the terms were laid out in a legal document). Sending someone into service to settle a debt isn't an entirely out-there notion in Europe, however, so I hope it's not completely unbelievable._


	2. Chapter 2

_Disclaimer: I do not own Beauty and the Beast._

Jacques, of course, disapproved. The Beast could tell his steward was unhappy with his decision the moment he drew back the curtain after all the peasants were gone.

"I know you think it's a bad idea, but the choice is made," the Beast said. "The girl is coming tomorrow."

Jacques narrowed his eyes.

"We'll just have to deal with any problems that might arise. Don't worry, I don't plan to reveal myself to her right away. She is to be treated as a guest, not a servant. She can go anywhere she likes in the castle, except my chambers in the West Wing. I will begin courting her through small tokens placed where she will find them, then larger gifts." His mind was whirling as he talked, bursting with ideas. "Once she is curious enough about the man who is so generous, then I shall reveal myself to her in a way that is as least frightening as I can manage. If she isn't the one…we can send her away. Far away, where she can't talk. I'm sure we can find someone to take her indenture and keep her on until her term is up."

Jacques crossed his arms over his chest, still looking skeptical, but the Beast could tell he was considering the problem from all angles. At last he gave a reluctant nod.

"You think it could work?"

Another very slow, reluctant nod. For the first time, the Beast had a small taste of real hope. It was heady stuff. "Make sure one of the guest suites is prepared. Get the money ready, and draw up the indenture papers. I'll sign them before they arrive, so that neither the girl or her father will see me. All it will need is his signature to make it legal."

Jacques bowed slightly and departed, still stiff with worry and disapproval. The Beast knew that he, too, should be worried, that this could be the end of all the secrets they'd worked so hard to keep. It might even mean his life. But the allure of regaining his humanity was a strong pull, especially on the very day he'd discovered he had only a short time left until the curse was permanent. He hadn't realized how strongly that little flame of hope had still burned inside him until it was about to be snuffed.

He went upstairs to look at the rose. It still appeared the same as it had in the morning, so at least it was wilting fairly slowly. He didn't have mere days, as he would if it were wilting as fast as a normal rose.

"Perhaps I am a fool," he said to it. "But I simply cannot pass up this one chance."

The rose did not offer its opinion.

The next day the Beast found he had a hard time keeping still. The morning hours dragged. Jacques and the other servants wisely stayed out of his way as much as possible. The Beast assumed Jacques, at least, was supervising preparations for their guest. He himself finally found purpose in the castle library where he selected a large stash of books to cart back to his own chambers. Since wandering the halls of the castle was going to become trickier for him in the near future, it was best to be prepared to spend a lot of time in his room. One the few things he truly enjoyed in life was getting lost in a good book. At such times he was carried away from his prison for a little while. He could forget what he was and immerse himself in someone else's pain and pleasure for a change.

He was just arranging a final load on the shelves in his personal study when Jacques knocked.

Immediately, the Beast was alert and tense. "Come in," he managed.

Jacques entered and the Beast's heart sank. Every line in Jacques's face and posture spoke trouble.

"What's wrong?" the Beast asked.

Jacques gestured for him to follow. The Beast's sense of foreboding deepened. Reluctantly he left the last book lying on a nearby table and went out the door.

The castle was built around a roughly rectangular central keep, with balconies on all floors looking down into the main entryway. When they exited the West Wing and approached the first balcony that allowed a good view of the floor below, Jacques put a finger to his lips, then pointed downwards.

The Beast crept forward until he could see the two people standing by the enormous front doors, clearly waiting. The big man with the impressively cleft chin and square jaw the Beast could see even from this height must be Monsieur DuPont. The Beast had never seen him without the screening curtain so he'd never gotten a good impression besides a characteristic booming voice. He was very tall, dark haired and built along the lines of a fine-blooded stallion, defined muscles straining at his shirt and breeches. And beside him…his daughter.

It took a great deal of effort for the Beast to suppress his gasp of surprise and horror. The girl was…a girl. A child. The Beast wasn't good at guessing the ages of children, having never had brothers or sisters, or even playmates his own age, but he thought perhaps she was somewhere between nine and eleven years old, looking even more petite next to her oversized father. Certainly too young to fall in love with him and be his salvation. Too young to be of any use at all.

He swung around and headed back into the West Wing, Jacques trailing at his heels. The steward carefully closed the doors behind them and made a 'what now?' gesture.

"Send her back with her father. The bargain is unacceptable." The Beast was unable to keep the rage from growling through his voice.

Jacques shook his head. On his piece of paper he wrote, _The bargain was made in front of several leading men of the village. They agreed to it. We won't be able to explain canceling it, even if we could come up with another solution for DuPont's debts._

"Sell _him_ to the Caribbean to work the sugar cane for all I care."

 _And the daughter?_

"Surely they have relatives…" But the Beast already knew from his previous dealings with DuPont that this was not the case. He never had anyone in court to speak for him or lend him credit.

Jacques stood very still. There was no expression at all on his face other than a few worry lines.

"We have to keep her," the Beast confirmed. "There's no other way?" Jacques shook his head.

There was a long pause. "Very well," the Beast finally said, though the words felt dragged from him. "She can stay, at least until we figure out something to do with her. Perhaps someone will still buy her indenture and train her for service or a trade. At least if she sees anything unusual while she's here, no one will believe a…child. Take her to the room prepared for her once her father has signed the papers and treat her as a guest. But I don't want to lay eyes on her."

Jacques nodded. He left, and the Beast waited until he could no longer hear the steward's footfalls on the stone floor before he let the animal within take control, the monster he normally kept a tight lid on. He broke as much as he could get his paws on and even shredded part of the carpet.

Eventually the mind of the man took back the reins, gathering them up slowly, wearily. He felt vaguely ashamed thinking of the look that would be on Jacques's face when he saw the disaster the room had become. But the despair was nearly overwhelming. His one chance, gone. Yes, he'd been foolish and taken a risk, knowing the plan was filled with flaws. But he hadn't been able to help letting the hope of getting his life back fill him. And he certainly hadn't expected things to backfire this badly, this quickly.

He should have asked DuPont more questions about the girl. But in his hope, he'd been so willing to assume the daughter was of an age to be courted.

What _had_ DuPont said about his daughter, anyway? She had skills such as cooking and cleaning, which, the Beast supposed, even a little girl could do if she had been properly taught.

Such a small thing for his mind to seize on. The impending deadline of the curse had made him desperate, and he had done a desperate thing that could not possibly have worked. And now he had a little girl in his castle for an indeterminate period of time until he and Jacques worked out what was ultimately to be done about her. Yet another unsolvable puzzle, instead of being the solution to the original problem.

Maybe the curse was designed never to be broken, whatever he did. Maybe fate, or the Enchantress, or whoever was in charge of such things, really was that unkind. He didn't want to believe it, but after today, he had to at least entertain the possibility. It was not a pleasant prospect.

He remained curled up on the carpet with these pleasant thoughts for a long time afterwards.

-0-0-0-

When Belle DuPont woke up that morning, she expected the day to be the same as the one before. And the ones before that, as far back as she could remember since the day her mother died. She got up from her little loft bed, shimmied down the ladder to the main floor of the cottage she shared with her father, got the fire going from the embers it had burned down to, and started making breakfast. All of this was accomplished as quietly as possible, as was her habit, even though on this particular morning her father was not snoring in his bed in the corner as usual. He disappeared occasionally, at times for days. He never told her where he was going, but he always returned eventually and expected to find everything as carefully taken care of as usual.

The only difference was that she could be a little slower at her chores if she chose, and let her mind wander a bit. Today, her thoughts drifted towards the barely-remembered past. If she strained, Belle could just recall that her mother had been beautiful with lustrous brown hair and—green? maybe green?—eyes, and had always given off an air of fragility, as if she'd shatter in the least breath of wind. That time, back when her father was just a fuzzy presence in the background and it was largely Belle and Maman together all day long, was distant in her ten-year-old memory. At least she thought she was ten. She guessed she'd been about five when her mother died.

After that, she had been expected to maintain the house to the best of her ability. She had to do all the cooking and cleaning, based on what her mother, and her grandmother who came to stay with them for a few months to take care of things before she died as well, had taught her. It had taken a lot of bruises before she got things to her father's standards, and there were a few burn and knife scars on her arms and hands from her cooking mishaps, but these days she knew she mostly performed to satisfaction. Satisfaction was good. The less Father noticed her at all, the better.

So she had become nothing more than a little wisp who automatically did the same thing every day with careful precision because the last thing she wanted was to catch attention. By this point, she was fairly certain her father forgot her entirely unless she left something undone and he noticed. He was always off at the tavern he owned or out in the woods hunting and usually only came home at night, expecting his dinner to be hot and ready and the following morning his breakfast waiting before he went off again.

Occasionally he would catch sight of her in the corner and go off on a rant about how he'd always wanted a son to leave the tavern to, and her worthless mother had died before giving him one, leaving him with a useless girl to feed. There was of course no money for a dowry, so he'd be stuck with her the rest of his life, no pawning her off on some man who'd take pity on her unless he was fool enough to accept her without a penny to her name.

Belle took this in stride. Escaping her current life rarely crossed her mind except on those golden fall days—like today—when a warm wind blew into the cottage from the nearby meadow, bringing with it the intoxicating smell of grass and leaves. Then, she'd allow herself one tiny daydream of running freely through that meadow with the wind in her hair and the whole world before her. But it would only last a moment, and then she'd be back to concentrating on the task at hand. Living in the moment was the only way to survive until the next.

The day went largely as any other. Belle kept one ear out for her father as she worked, but the morning was peaceful and all she could hear was a pleasant breeze. She'd finished chopping wood and had just started kneading a loaf of bread when she heard footsteps on the path. She thought she picked out her father's heavy tread, but there were others with him. She frowned. Hardly anyone came to the cottage, and certainly not in the middle of the day. Sometimes people came to see her father in the evenings, and Belle was under strict orders to hide in the loft and not make a sound when that happened. But now she wasn't sure what to do. Should she continue her chores or hide in the loft? Choosing wrong would mean days of pain, but she couldn't decide which was likelier to be the right choice. She stood paralyzed with indecision, flour still streaking her arms.

While she tried to decide, the footsteps had come up the front porch. The door flew open, and it was too late to do anything but try to look busy.

"There she is," her father said.

Belle looked up to see a group of men staring at her. She cowered a little, unused to anyone looking at her so long, and barely managed not to dive under the table.

"My god, Gaston," said one of the men, "The prince really has been merciful on you, to agree that _she_ 's worth what you owe us. This little thing will hardly be of use as a servant in that big place of his."

Belle shrank away even further. She had no idea what they meant—her father owed these men something? And what did the prince have to do with it?

"The bargain's made," her father said roughly. She noted he was actually sober for once. "And you all agreed to it. You knew what he was getting, even if he didn't. I'll deliver her tomorrow, as promised, and you'll get your money from the prince then."

"Ah, no," said another of the men. "We all know what your promises are worth, DuPont. We've agreed one of us will stay on the porch until tomorrow to make sure you don't run out on us, or damage her enough to degrade her value. We've never interfered with how you treat your lawful property, much as it disgusts, but the girl doesn't belong to you anymore. We wouldn't want the prince paying even less for her if he sees she's too hurt to work."

"Hush now," said the third man, the one nearly as big as Father. "You're frightening the girl. If you scare her any more, she might run off herself and then where would we be? Don't be afraid," he said, turning to Belle and smiling. Belle found this unnerving; she was not used to anyone even attempting a kind smile towards her. "We're not here to hurt you. We're taking you to a new home tomorrow. Your father has agreed you will go work for the prince for a few years! Isn't that grand?"

Belle backed up until she was leaning against the ladder. Go work for the prince! Leave here? What had her father done? From the remarks the men had made, it sounded as if he had—sold her? How could he?

"We're also here," the man continued with a glance at her father, "To make sure your Papa doesn't hurt you. You belong to the prince now, not to him, and he doesn't have the right."

Belle had to think for a moment, her dazed brain still stuck on the idea that her father had _sold_ her. She never called him Papa, so it took her a moment to realize who the man meant. And while she could sense that the man was trying to reassure her by telling her Father couldn't hurt her, she'd never really thought about her relationship to him in terms of ownership. He was just her father. But it appeared he had sold her just as he had sold off their horse two years ago. Like the horse, these men would take her away and she'd never come back here.

While on some level Belle knew she should feel relieved, all she really felt was fear and uncertainty. This cottage was all she'd ever known. She had no idea what life was like more than a few hundred yards from this house. Here at least all the dangers were familiar and could be avoided.

Her desperate mind grasped onto something: the man had said she'd work for the prince for a few years. That wasn't forever. Then life would return to normal.

She took a deep breath and forced herself to at least appear calm.

The man smiled again. "Good girl. Be brave. You won't try to run away, will you?"

She shook her head. The man nodded, then turned to her father, his face growing cold. "Remember, we're right outside. Don't try anything foolish."

The men filed out, leaving Belle alone with her father. Belle had a thousand questions, chief amongst them if he had really sold her to be a servant to the prince and was he actually sending her away, but she dared not open her mouth. She could tell from the look on his face that despite the men's threats that he would probably ignore them if she provoked him by speaking.

Finally he growled, "Don't you have work to do?" with a pointed look at the neglected bread on the table. Belle blinked at him. He narrowed his eyes. "Don't just stand there staring, girl. Get to it!" He swung around and slammed out of the cottage again. Belle heard him exchange a few words with the man on the porch, then stalk off around the house. From the sounds, he'd begun tinkering with his prize rifle in the little shed out back, something he always did when upset.

She waited a few breaths. Then, without really thinking about it she drifted back to the table and began kneading the bread as if it were any other day.

She was going away. To work for the prince, of all things. She dared not wonder what that would be like. She glanced around the cottage, seeing it for the first time with fresh eyes. Nothing here really belonged to her except two nearly-outgrown sets of clothes. She really had no attachment to anything in the cottage; largely it was just tools she used to carry out her daily tasks.

Who would take care of her father once she was gone? He couldn't cook and clean for himself. He hadn't been able to explain anything when she had questions after her mother died. She comforted herself with the idea that perhaps he hadn't explained because he wanted her to learn, not because he didn't know how. Or perhaps he'd move into the tavern full time and have one of the barmaids tend his needs.

All day she continued her chores as if nothing had happened. Father stayed outside. She could occasionally hear a mutter or a swearword from him in the shed. She also heard the men come and go in shifts from the front porch, but their talk was about goings-on in the village—this man was sick, that couple had a baby—and answered none of her questions.

In the evening, Father came in and ate the dinner she'd prepared in stony silence. Not once did he look at her. Only when he was finished and had gone to bed was it safe for Belle to take what was left up to her loft and ponder the day's events.

Tomorrow, her life would change completely and things would never the same. Something had already changed in her. A crust had hardened around her heart with the knowledge that her father had sold her, his only child, to a complete stranger like a mug of beer at his tavern. If she'd ever had any illusions that he cared about her at all—and she was ashamed to admit how much she'd still wanted to believe it—that illusion was shattered for good.

And if her own father cared so little for her, how could anyone else? She was doomed to be lonely forever.

She only allowed a few completely silent tears to fall before she forced herself to swallow her sobs. It took her a long time to fall asleep.

* * *

 _Author's Note: The author of a Beauty and the Beast webcomic I read (Megan Kearney's Beauty and the Beast, for those interested, because it is fabulous and I do not feel any reservations in plugging it) made the interesting point on her tumblr page that she is striving in her own work to make the story a journey for both of her protagonists. In the original 18th century Beauty and the Beast, it is Beauty on whose growth the story focuses; the Beast is largely a guy just waiting for her develop enough to see him for the kind and gentle man he already is despite his animalistic qualities. In the Disney version and all versions based upon it (inadvertently or on purpose), it is Belle who is largely already emotionally whole and the Beast on whose emotional growth the story centers as he learns to be selfless and kind. Kearney states she is deliberately attempting to achieve a balance where both her Beauty and Beast need to grow and develop as they get to know each other before they can get their proverbial happy ending. In setting my story up as I have, I am going to attempt to do something similar._


	3. Chapter 3

_Disclaimer: I do not own Beauty and the Beast._

It was not often that Jacques Saint-Yves was completely stymied about what to do next. He prided himself on anticipating needs before they were even thought of. The most memorable time he had been caught flat-footed, of course, had been the day of the curse when he had been stripped of his voice, his fellow servants of their form, and his master of his humanity. Who could ever possibly imagine such a calamity might fall on one household in a single moment? It had taken them all a long time to get used to the new status quo.

Eventually they had adapted, and tried not to let their misery at the situation overwhelm them. No one was happy, but they learned to live around it. Jacques despaired sometimes of the indifference the Master seemed to show at trying to find a solution and set them all free, but without his voice he could do little more than hint. And it wasn't as if Jacques himself had come up with some brilliant overlooked answer to all their prayers as the years passed. It was an unavoidable fact that the fewer people who knew about the curse, the safer they all were. Finding a girl who could love the Master and have him fall in love with in return was fraught with a devil's snare of danger.

Now, he found himself with another problem that left him completely unsure of how to respond. He hadn't exactly been thrilled with the Master's decision to bring in a girl as an indentured servant and try to woo her, but it had been so long since the Master had shown any interest at all in trying to break the curse that Jacques had gone along with it against his better judgment. And had been paid back spectacularly for his lapse.

Now they had a little girl they had to accommodate and figure out what on earth to do with. She might not be the solution, but she certainly presented her own set of problems. They couldn't send her back with her father. But they did not need her services as a cook or maid-of-all work; while invisible, the servants were still highly competent.

The Master had given him little direction in what to do with the matter, though Jacques hadn't expected it. The shock of having his hopes dashed so quickly had understandably set the Master reeling. Perhaps when they'd all calmed down they might think of something reasonable.

In the meantime, there was the girl standing in front of him, though her back was to him as she watched her father walk away after having made his mark on the indenture papers. The big man did not look back, just sauntered out the door as if he had better things to do with his time than say goodbye to his only child.

Jacques took the time to study the girl while she was distracted. He guessed she was about nine or ten years old and very thin. She had long brown hair, though it was hard to tell exactly what shade under all the dirt and mats. Her clothes, from what he could see, were filthy as well and had been let out as far as they possibly could be. Well, that was something tangible to be taken care of first. A hot bath, and new clothes that actually fit her small frame. She looked, to Jacques's exacting standards, like a waif off the streets. That DuPont fellow had certainly not been seeing to his daughter's needs very well.

She turned to look at him at last. Her brown-green eyes were suspiciously bright, but there were no tears or blotchiness on her face. Her expression was closed and wary.

Jacques found her rising in his estimation almost in spite all the disappointment she represented. She hadn't made a scene when her father left her to complete strangers. While sad, he could see a tiny spark of…something in those overbright eyes. He couldn't put a finger on what it might be. Courage? Determination? Spunk? Whatever it was, it impressed him. Her eyes weren't entirely dull with resignation, the way the Master's and, if he was honest, his own were when he looked in the mirror.

He could feel her studying him, taking in his powdered wig and immaculate clothes with some awe and confusion. Then, she bobbed up and down in a rough curtsy.

Jacques couldn't help smiling a little. She must think he was the Master. When she looked up at him again, he shook his head and mimed carrying a tray. She looked puzzled, until he mimed sweeping, polishing and dusting and pointed to himself. Then she nodded, clearly understanding that despite his elegance he was a servant.

He gestured for her to follow, then started up the main stairs to the second floor. The Master had ordered she be treated like a guest, so one of the guest suites normally prepared for visiting nobles had been readied. Jacques noticed as the girl trailed him up the stairs, staring around at everything, that she carried nothing with her, not even something of sentimental value. She had literally been sent with only the ragged, too-small clothes on her back.

Had he and the Master actually been concerned with her monetary value, they would probably have felt cheated of their due. Certainly DuPont's creditors had gotten the better end of this deal. The girl was barely old enough to be an apprentice, and whatever skills she might have in cooking, cleaning or sewing were negligible compared to what it took to keep things in the castle in order. If this were a more normal royal household and this situation had for some reason presented itself she probably would have been given to one of the under-servants to train, or assigned to the scullery to work her way up through the kitchen.

But a guest room it was. A guest room where she'd be assisted by invisible servants who hopefully wouldn't frighten her too badly.

He opened the door for her and bowed her inside. The girl looked at him suspiciously but went past into the main room, staring around at everything with eyes as big as saucers. Jacques let her take as long as she liked, though she didn't move from a few steps in from the door. At last she looked back at him with a frown. Jacques pointed to her, and then gestured expansively at the room. She stared at him, uncomprehending, so he tried again.

She began shaking her head vigorously. "Oh, no, I can't…" Then she put her hands over her mouth as if horrified she'd spoken and looked at the floor.

Jacques stared at her, puzzled. After a few moments she peeped at him from under her hair and saw that he was confused rather than angry. She relaxed, and then said tentatively, "Am I allowed to talk?"

Now he understood. Jacques smiled and nodded vigorously. He patted his own throat and shook his head, then patted it again and pointed at the girl with a nod.

She watched this carefully, then asked, "So, you can't speak, but I can if I want to?"

He nodded, and watched her digest this information. "Can you speak, or you're not allowed?" was her next question. He considered how to answer, then tried holding his throat with both hands and shaking his head.

"Can't?" she guessed. He nodded.

She relaxed further; clearly she'd taken his silence to mean she wouldn't be allowed to speak either. An odd but not unreasonable conclusion given the circumstances. Jacques found his respect for her rising a little more. She was perceptive for one so young. He pulled one of his pieces of paper from his pocket and mimed scribbling on it. Then he pointed to her and tilted his head in question.

She shook her head. "No, I can't read or write."

Jacques couldn't hide some disappointment; while not unexpected in a peasant girl, it would make communicating with her more difficult, especially for the other servants. Maybe she could be taught, if she was going to stay here for awhile.

A tap at the door announced the arrival of one of the invisible servants. Jacques braced himself as the door swung open on its own. The girl jumped when a rolling tray loaded with buckets of hot water and towels appeared to wheel itself inside. Jacques gestured to one side of the room where the door to the bedchamber stood. With a hand on her shoulder he did not give her time to take in the grandeur of this room, instead steering her to where the door to a small bathing chamber was tucked. He followed the girl inside, gestured she should stay where she was and indicated (he hoped) that he would wait just outside. The cart followed the girl in, then the door closed with a firm snap. He could only imagine what the maids were thinking as they contemplated the task of cleaning up this little urchin.

As promised, Jacques took a seat in the bedroom and waited, his ears straining. He heard a gasp of surprise and a scuffle towards the door. Then there was a long pause, then the sound of water pouring into the tub. Another pause, even more pronounced, and then the splash of a small body entering the tub and a squeak of surprise from the girl: "It's warm!"

Jacques smiled and tuned out the further noises of a girl being bathed as he considered his next move. The invisible servants would take care of providing her with fresh clothes; that went without saying. Her meals would be brought to this room at regular intervals. He couldn't follow her around all day; he had the Master to attend to and a household to supervise. For the time being, at least, he'd have to trust that she could stay out of trouble.

The door to the bathing room opened and closed. He looked up to see a note hovering before him. He took it; the handwriting proclaimed it to be from the Mistress of Maids, Madame Santine.

 _We must have scrubbed off ten years of dirt and I don't know when was the last she did more than run her fingers through her hair to comb it, but she'll be presentable when we're all finished. Her arms and hands are covered in knife and burn scars and her hands are as rough as a mason's. She is also surprisingly strong for one her size. She has worked, hard, for the majority of her life. Will the Master see her?_

Jacques shook his head, knowing Madame Santine was still in the room. He wrote underneath Madame Santine's words, _He wants nothing to do with her, so don't waste time dressing her in anything stiff or fancy. Comfortable and practical for a child her age will do, though make certain her clothes are of as good a quality as we can manage on such short notice. I've been given no direction with what she is to do with her time. If you can think of something, let me know._

He felt a squeeze on his shoulder, then the door to the bathing room opened and closed again, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

-0-0-0-

Belle found herself, for possibly the first time in her life, clean, hair combed, and in a new dress simultaneously. She was still in somewhat of a shock at how suddenly it had all happened.

Trays that rolled on their own and water that poured itself were bad enough and she had scrabbled for the door as soon as things started to move on their own. Eventually, however, she had been coaxed to climb into the tub by the invisible nudges that seemed to come from nowhere and for awhile just enjoyed the sensation of being immersed in warm water. The scrubbing of her skin wasn't too bad, though the brushes' bristles stung a little. Watching the brushes float around was almost funny if she didn't think about it too hard.

Once she was clean, she was helped out of the bath and into a soft robe that was so long it trailed behind her—obviously made for an adult woman but she didn't care. Belle had never felt anything so fine against her skin and she couldn't help rubbing the sleeve over her cheek every once in awhile. She also couldn't help examining her hands in amazement. They were pink with cleanness, and there was no dirt or bits of food under her nails.

Brushing out her hair was awful. She could feel that the invisible hands with the brush were trying to be gentle, but the tangles in her hair were so bad that all too often the sharp tugs on her scalp made her cry out. Eventually the tangles had to be cut out. Belle did not like the sight of those floating scissors anywhere near her, but she sensed she had no choice so she steeled herself and just closed her eyes. She tried hard not to shake but she couldn't help trembling at the sensation of the sharp blades sheering off her hair. She could tell that they were cutting off more than just the parts that were tangled, so when she opened her eyes was unsurprised to find there was quite a bit of snarled brown hair on the floor around her. The hair still attached to her head just brushed her collarbones. It was also, from what she could see, smooth and shiny.

With her hair finished, the soft robe was taken away—to Belle's mild disappointment—and she was helped into white cotton undergarments with lace edges and then into a pink linen gown, all nicer than anything she'd ever worn in her life. The gown was a little large for her but Belle was so pleased with how pretty it was that she didn't care. Her hair was tied back with a pink ribbon, and then with stockings and slippers on her feet she was dressed.

She was led back out into the fabulously rich bedroom, where the silent man in the white wig waited. He smiled when he saw her, and Belle couldn't help feeling some heat come to her face at how pleased he looked. No one had ever looked pleased at her appearance before since her mother died. He twirled his first finger at her and she turned slowly so that he could get a good look. He nodded to her, and then to the invisible presence, or presences—Belle couldn't tell if there were one or many beings— who had helped her. He made gestures around his wig and then applauded quietly with his gloved hands; from this Belle concluded that he approved of the drastic change in her hair.

There was a tap at the door to the main room. The Silent Man, as Belle had secretly dubbed him, led the way into the big outer room. Belle saw another rolling cart had arrived, this one with wonderful smells emanating from several covered dishes atop it. The table in one corner was in the process of setting itself, which Belle watched with a combination of trepidation and amazement. This was going to take some getting used to. She'd expected to come here to do the same kinds of cooking and cleaning she did for her father, but here those things were just…done, by these strange invisible presences. And they were doing things for her, instead of expecting her to work alongside them. It was a strange feeling, watching work get done without her.

After a minute or two the table was laid and the food set out. Belle recognized not a single dish but her rumbling stomach reminded her she hadn't eaten anything since her hasty breakfast that morning. Hunger was overriding caution and nerves. She plunked herself down in the chair and reached for the trays.

A napkin settled itself insistently onto her lap and when Belle sat back in alarm the spoons started putting helpings onto her plate. Belle didn't dare lean forward again until the parade of floating silverware was clearly over. Finally she reached carefully for a fork, praying it wouldn't start jumping around on its own. The fork offered no resistance when she picked it up, but she still ate more slowly than her stomach would have preferred as a precaution.

While she ate, she noticed out of the corner of her eye that the Silent Man left the room and did not return. Some of his invisible companions must have stayed, however, because once she was finished eating the table cleared itself back onto the cart, which rolled out the door.

It had also gotten dark outside at some point, but there were candle brackets on the wall with mirrors set behind them so that they threw bright light into the whole room. The door to the bedroom was still open, and Belle couldn't quite bring herself to think about exploring the rest of this empty castle—or was it full of those strange invisible spirits?—especially at night. She was fairly sure she'd be moved into more appropriate quarters in the morning; this elegant set of rooms (which were bigger than the whole cottage she shared with her father but were tiny compared to the size and grandeur of the rest of the castle) couldn't be meant for a peasant girl sold to the prince to be a servant. She'd probably also have to give back these lovely clothes and wear something more appropriate to work in.

Thinking about it that way brought unwanted tears to her eyes. To distract herself she wandered into the bedroom and busied herself admiring how the candlelight glimmered on the smooth surfaces of the furniture and on the shiny cloth coverings over the walls. The rugs were soft and plush, and she removed her stockings and slippers just to be able to enjoy the sensation tickling the bottoms of her feet. For awhile she amused herself by just running her hands over the polished furniture, opening drawers to look at the pretty clothes stored inside and generally peering into every nook and cranny. She might not get a chance to look this closely at luxury again.

In one corner sat a strange piece of furniture that consisted of a mirror set into a desk of some kind with many little drawers and a cushioned seat in front of it. Belle couldn't guess its purpose, but the cost must be enormous to have a mirror so large and clear. On a whim, Belle sat in the seat and peeped into the mirror.

She'd seen reflections of herself in quiet water or in metal if it was polished enough so she had a general idea of her features, but the view had always been somewhat distorted. In the mirror, everything was crystal clear. There was a pale face with a pixie chin, framed by brown hair that gleamed almost as much as the polished furniture in the room behind her. Belle fingered it doubtfully, then shook her head so that several strands came loose from the pink ribbon and hung around her face. There was a little pointed nose, and big green-brown eyes that almost seemed sunken and too big for the face. Her cheekbones were slightly hollow, and overall Belle thought she looked sad and tired, even prettied up and clean as she was.

Thinking about being tired made her glance at the bed without really thinking about it. It did look inviting, and certainly softer than her loft pallet. She slid off the chair and headed for the bed, but before she made it halfway she heard the door between the outer room and the rest of the castle open and close. She froze.

It was only the Silent Man, and she thought he looked somewhat harassed. He puffed his shoulders up and down in a heavy sigh and gritted his teeth. She shrank back, but when he entered the bedroom and saw her partway to the bed he smiled.

The wardrobe opened on its own and a white shift came pouring down from a shelf. Like the one she wore, this one also had lace at the cuffs and hem, but it was slightly fancier and made of heavier material. The Silent Man nodded at whoever was holding it up, then looked at Belle, pointed at the bed, and tilted his head to the side in what she was coming to recognize as the signal he was asking a question.

Belle caught an involuntary yawn as her response and the man grinned, showing a sparkle of teeth in the candlelight. He bowed slightly to her and departed, leaving her alone with the floating white shift. Belle swallowed hard and allowed the invisible spirit to help her undress and get into the new shift. The bed was looking more inviting by the moment. Belle almost had to jump to get onto it. Immediately she snuggled in between the clean white sheets. Though her nerves were still trying to insist she stay awake, the length and strangeness of the day was rapidly catching up with her. She barely remembered seeing the bedcurtains being drawn around her by unseen hands before she drifted off to sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

_Disclaimer: I do not own Beauty and the Beast_

Belle sprang awake the next morning, thinking, _I can't believe I overslept! Father will…_ She looked around in confusion. She seemed to be inside a cloth cave. There was some light sneaking in, enough to see she was surrounded by curtains, but it was still quite dim. Her internal clock told her it was long past when she should have been up to tend the fire. She must have been so tired from the day before she'd slept late. That hadn't happened in years.

The previous day's events were creeping back to her. Her father had sold her to the prince. She was now in his castle, where they had bathed her, dressed her in nice clothes, and fed her the best meal she'd ever eaten. There was a man in a wig who couldn't speak and invisible things who did all the chores.

Cautiously, she found a gap in the curtains and stuck her nose out. It wasn't as late as she'd feared; morning sun was pouring cheerfully through the windows. She decided she wasn't sure whether she liked the room more at night with the candlelight glittering on the furniture and the mirrors or during the day when the sunlight highlighted all the rich colors that had been used to decorate. The walls were a dark green she found particularly pretty.

A delicious scent wafted in from the main room. Belle smelled warm bread and several other things she couldn't identify. She couldn't resist as her stomach rumbled and she slid to the floor.

Halfway across the room she felt a light tap on her shoulder. She yelped and nearly jumped out of her skin until she realized it was one of the invisible spirits trying to get her attention. When she'd recovered from her scare she realized a robe of some kind to go over her shift was being held out and slippers were being nudged towards her on the floor. Now that she thought about it, it was rather chilly in the room despite the warm sunlight. Gratefully she donned both robe and slippers and proceeded to the main room to find breakfast hot and ready on the table. There was the fresh bread. There was also ham and eggs, and, luxury of luxuries, butter and cheese and fruit preserves. And a few other things she couldn't identify but smelled wonderful.

Belle was perfectly happy to let the invisible servants put things on her plate this time while she just sat and stared at it all in wonder. Everything was not only delicious, it was also pretty. Nothing at all like the things she made at home, which while they didn't taste bad didn't have much to say for themselves in the looks department. They came out how they came out, and as long as they were edible it didn't matter. She wondered if the invisible spirits would teach her to make beautiful things like that.

After breakfast she was dressed in yet another lovely gown, this one a lighter green than the walls. The pink gown from last night had vanished; Belle hoped she'd see it again. She snagged a slice of bread and some cheese to be stored in her pocket for later. Just because meals seemed to be appearing on some kind of schedule without her having to do anything did not mean it would always be that way. Perhaps the invisible spirits would forget about her eventually, as her father always did, and then she'd have to start fending for herself.

Once breakfast was cleared away and the door shut behind the rolling tray Belle was fairly certain she was alone. She waited a little while just to be sure, but nothing started moving about on its own and nothing tapped her shoulder or brushed by her.

She continued her exploration of the rooms, but she'd seen most of it the previous night. A good night's sleep and two solid meals had gone a long way to making her face look better, in the mirror at least.

Still no one came to fetch her and explain what her new chores were to be, not even the Silent Man who seemed to be largely in charge even if he was not the prince. After some time had gone by Belle started to feel restless. She was used to having barely enough time in the day to get everything done before it was time to go to sleep; idleness did not sit well with her. She found she kept waiting for her father to burst in and demand why she was not at work tending the fires, making food, washing clothes, or some other routine chore that typically occupied most of her day. Everything in the room was already immaculate so there was no straightening or dusting to be done here.

Well, she decided, if no one was going to show her where there was work to be done, she'd have to seek it out herself. The idea of going out into this vast, empty castle alone was scary, but it grew more and more attractive the more time went by and nothing happened.

She went to the door and opened it a crack. She saw no one, but then, she had begun to come to expect that. She stuck her head further out. The soft creak of the door echoed down the empty corridor. Belle winced and waited. Nothing happened. She pushed herself further outside until she stood in front of the open door. Silence.

Belle began to meander down the corridor, taking it all in. Everything was just as rich as the rooms she'd been staying in. A velvet—at least she thought it might be velvet—carpet stretched out on the floor, muffling any sound her slippered feet might have made. Here and there a piece of furniture was nestled against the wall, out of the way but still attractive. Offset from these were occasional paintings, a mix of people and nature as the subjects. Belle found the frames, which were either carved, gilded or set with jewels, or sometimes all three at once, just as fascinating as the paintings themselves. Sometimes into the stone itself were carved faces or designs.

Belle's fears began to fade into the background the longer she wandered. She had never seen anything like this, and the wonders kept appearing around every corner. Everything was beautiful, sparkling clean, and empty. The dining room alone was so huge she fancied she could barely see the far end of it. Eventually she made her way downstairs and into the servants' parts of the castle, where she had the very strange experience of watching chores do themselves. From removing fresh food from the one of the smaller side rooms in the kitchen to washing dishes, everything was done by the invisible spirits and Belle could only watch as things floated about the room seemingly under their own power. There was certainly nothing she could do here to help. She was hungry by then, and was offered a much more simple but still filling lunch than the meals she had been getting in her room. The food from breakfast smuggled in her pocket was starting to feel a bit overcautious.

When no one drafted her into service she wandered out into the gardens, thinking she might find something that needed doing there. No such luck. Everything there was better than she could have made it, or in the process of becoming so. Belle learned a few things she hadn't known before about preparing a vegetable garden for winter just by watching the invisible spirits work there for an hour or two.

There was much more to the grounds, but Belle decided she had had enough of being outside for the time being. It was starting to occur to her that if there really was so little for her to do, she might want to save some exploration of the castle for the future.

She wandered back inside, a puzzle growing inside her head. If he hadn't wanted a servant, particularly one so unskilled as she was compared to those already here, why had the prince bought her from her father in the first place? If what the village men had said when they came to tell her she had been sold was true, the amount of money must be significant. Yet here she stood, with nothing to do, and none of the invisible spirits seemed to care very much if she roamed freely among them while they worked. A waste of such a large amount of money made no sense.

Belle glanced around and realized she was in an unfamiliar hallway. In her distraction she hadn't been paying particular attention to where she was going. The hallways she had seen earlier blended together somewhat in her head, but she was fairly certain she recognized none of the paintings or other decorations she saw now. She paused to look behind her, then ahead. There was no way to tell which way might lead back to familiar territory and eventually to her rooms.

She debated for a few moments longer, then kept moving forward. Suddenly she noticed that the light was starting to fade. The sun must be going down. Her gut squeezed. She might have gotten more comfortable with wandering the castle by day, but just thinking about these empty halls at night with no light gave her the horrors.

She started walking faster.

She rounded a corner, but still nothing looked familiar. The same thing happened around the next corner. And the next. Every minute it grew darker, and Belle's fear increased.

And then she came around a corner, and saw flickering light coming from under a set of closed double doors at the far end. This hallway appeared to be a dead end, but at least someone was at the end of it. Perhaps it was the Silent Man, or even one of the invisible servants, who could guide her back to her rooms. Belle started for it gratefully.

The door Belle chose opened without a creak. She peered inside and stifled a gasp.

Unlike every other room in the castle she'd seen, this one was a disaster. Broken furniture littered the floor, the carpets were shredded, the mirrors were smashed. Someone had made a valiant attempt at putting things in order; the furniture pieces were in neat piles and the dangerous glass shards had been largely cleared away. But there was still clearly a great deal to do.

There was also a fire in a large fireplace along one wall. Someone had been here recently, even if the room looked empty now. Belle slid inside, careful not to trip on the piles of wood and cloth and the places where the carpet was torn up.

Perhaps here at last was a place she could be useful while she waited for someone to come. They'd have to come back and tend the fire eventually; it was folly to leave a fire so large burning alone for long. Even in a stone castle there was a risk of a spark landing on something more flammable. Belle started towards a pile that looked to have once been a chair, thinking she might move it away from the risk of getting set ablaze.

Halfway across the room the hairs on the back of her neck prickled. She froze. There was someone already in the room, someone she hadn't seen from the doorway.

There was a long moment of silence. Belle was now certain she heard someone breathing somewhere behind her. "Who—who's there?" she finally managed to quaver. For some reason she was reluctant to turn around and face whoever it was.

"What are you doing here?" rumbled a deep voice in reply. Not the Silent Man, then, or any of the spirits.

"I-I got lost," Belle whispered. "I didn't mean…" She trailed off. There was an undertone to the man's voice she didn't like. It sounded almost like a dog's growl. A very big dog.

"Get out," snarled the voice.

Belle, by now trembling violently, was only too happy to comply. But to get back to the door, she would have to turn around. She'd have to see whatever was behind her.

She couldn't make herself do it.

"Get out!" demanded the voice again.

Belle's nerve finally broke and she spun towards the door. But what she saw in the corner made her stumble and almost fall.

A hulking shape, largely concealed by a piece of cloth that it seemed to have hastily pulled over itself. But what Belle could see was horrifying: sharp teeth and horns and eyes glittering in the firelight.

She couldn't help it. She screamed. At the sound, the creature lost its grip on the cloth, which slid to the ground, and Belle could see the monster in all its glory.

It was larger than the largest bear her father had ever brought home after hunting. It had the same coarse brown fur, but the face was all wrong—more like a wolf's—and no bear or wolf ever had ox's horns. What made it all the worse was that it was clearly wearing human clothes, made to fit its enormous frame.

Belle screamed again, and this time her feet seemed to move on their own, carrying her out the door and flying down the hallway. She barely noticed when she passed the Silent Man and was already gone by the time he might have thought to try to slow her down. Somehow she managed to find what she had been searching for all afternoon: a way back to the main area. Down the stairs she ran, so completely in the thrall of her blind terror that she only moved in the direction her panic told her was _away._ Out the door, her slippered feet making a tiny pittering counterpoint to the rising rain and occasional grumbling of thunder.

-0-0-0-

Had the girl not been so justifiably terrified and managed not to run quite so quickly, she might have found what happened after she left the room somewhat unexpected and possibly somewhat humorous. When she screamed the second time, the Beast had been scrabbling for the cloth he had dropped and the scream was so piercing to his animal's ears that he actually staggered back and bounced off the wall. By the time he recovered his wits from the mildly jarring blow, she had vanished.

A few moments later Jacques burst into the room. He jabbed a thumb at the door and mimed someone running.

"She saw me," the Beast said, rubbing the back of his head where it had hit the wall and shaking his mane a little to clear the cobwebs of shock from his mind. "How did she get in here?"

Jacques shrugged helplessly. On his piece of paper he wrote, _She's been wandering the castle all day. The last any of the staff saw her, she was out in the gardens. We've been trying to find her for about ten minutes or so, when she wasn't in her room for dinner._

"And no one told her to stay out of the West Wing?!"

 _We couldn't. She can't read, and none of the staff has the time to watch her every minute. We didn't see any harm in letting her get the lay of the castle since she's going to be with us for quite some time._

The Beast took a deep breath, trying to calm down. The girl's entrance had startled him considerably, but he'd had the presence of mind to grab a nearby curtain and attempt to pull it over himself once he'd realized she thought she was alone. Unfortunately , the movement appeared to have alerted the girl to his presence. He didn't blame her for being frightened—he deeply despised what he saw in mirrors—but his own heart was still racing with the suddenness of it all.

He hadn't intended to meet her face-to-face, and certainly not on her first full day. Once he'd discovered she was a child, not a woman, he'd debated showing himself to her at all if it could be avoided. But now the damage was done.

"Where did she go?" he asked.

Jacques raised both hands in a 'who knows?' gesture.

"Go and find her. See if you can calm her down and explain as best you can."

 _It will go much more easily if you are there, sire. I can't speak, and she can't read. She will have more complicated questions than I can answer with mere gestures,_ wrote Jacques. When the Beast growled his displeasure, Jacques added, _Well, what gestures would_ you _use for the words 'under a magic spell'?_

He kept his bland expression as the Beast glared at him. Jacques always made far too much sense, even when the Beast did not want to hear what he said. He followed his steward out into the hall, trailing behind so that it would be Jacques the girl saw first. The last thing they needed was for her to bolt again.

A few minutes down the hall they were met with a floating note, which the invisible servant handed to Jacques. To the Beast's surprise, Jacques actually made a vehement gesture with his mouth, as if he were trying to speak. The Beast hadn't seen him do that in years. It took another moment for the Beast to realize Jacques had been attempting to swear aloud at the note's contents.

"What's wrong?"

Two words: _She's gone._

" _Gone_?! Gone where?"

Jacques pointedly turned and looked out the nearest window. He and the Beast watched the lowering clouds. As if the coming storm sensed them looking, the first drops of rain splashed against the glass panes.

" _Merde_ ," the Beast muttered, echoing Jacques's earlier sentiments. They glanced at each other. Jacques' lips were compressed into thin, tight lines.

"I have to find her," the Beast said. Jacques seemed mildly surprised at this statement, but he nodded agreement. Not only could she give away his secret, but no one should be out alone with a storm like this coming on. The sight of him had frightened her so badly that it had put her in danger. He didn't want her death on his conscience.

"Which way did she go?"

Jacques handed the note back to the invisible servant, who scribbled on it and handed it to Jacques, who then passed it to the Beast. _The front door._ The Beast nodded and the little group set off.


	5. Chapter 5

_Disclaimer: I do not own Beauty and the Beast_

The Beast found tracking the girl into the woods surrounding the castle surprisingly easy. Before the curse he had enjoyed hunting, and his heightened animal senses allowed him to follow her scent as well as her occasional tracks. As the rain increased, however, his progress was slowed considerably. The water began to wash the girl's scent and prints away, and his massive form was simply not built to be out long in the mud. He hated that he'd had to switch to all fours instead of walking upright, but it was just easier going that way.

 _How did she get out this far_? he asked himself. For a girl so tiny, she certainly had stamina.

Just as he was thinking this, he rounded a tree and there she was beside a broad stream, on the edge of an embankment. He could hear her panting breaths as she bent over, hugging her ribs. She'd run until she couldn't run anymore. He could also see her shivering in her rain-soaked clothing.

The Beast froze. If she saw him, she might try to run again. Slowly he backed up until he could just peer around the tree to see what she would do next.

At least, that was what he intended. He'd forgotten to account for his own massive bulk and backed into another tree. The tree shook violently and a flurry of colorful leaves fell to the ground.

The girl looked up and saw him. Her eyes got huge and she took a step backwards.

The muddy embankment gave under her foot, and with a shriek she toppled downwards into the dark water.

-0-0-0-

The last thing Belle saw before she fell over was a pair of big blue eyes set into a brown furry face. Just before she hit the water, she thought, incongruously, _Bears don't have blue eyes._

Then she began to struggle as her waterlogged dress pulled her downwards. Her slippers were easy to kick off but her dress was too heavy and she was already exhausted from running blindly through the woods. Just when she'd thought she was safe, the monster had appeared again like a nightmare come to life.

She bucked frantically towards the surface and managed one precious breath before her dress dragged her down again. She could also feel the current pulling her quickly as the stream was swollen with rain. Unseen rocks scraped at her legs and arms. She struggled, but she could not force her head above the surface again.

Arms—really big, powerful arms—surged around her. Their owner appeared not to be troubled by the weight of her dress as he, or it, stroked towards the stream bank, clutching her close. Belle could only gasp and choke out swallowed water. She had recovered enough by the time she and her rescuer reached the edge to reach for the muddy side herself. She was deposited a good distance away from the stream where she vomited up the last of the water that had been forced down her throat. After a few deep breaths without pain, she was able to take stock.

She heard a wheezing breath from behind her and turned to thank her rescuer. When she saw who it was, she scrabbled backwards on her knees before checking herself. Whatever else happened, she didn't want to end up back underwater.

Her rescuer was the monster she had been running from. Belle found a sizeable rock to huddle against, staring. Somehow in the near-dark he looked even worse than by firelight. Just a big hulking shape with gleaming eyes. But as her own eyes adjusted a bit she saw his soaked fur sticking up in all directions like a wet dog's, which for some reason she found mildly funny. Her breath started to slow as they regarded each other.

"I won't harm you." The deep, rumbling voice issued from the creature's muzzle. It was the same voice from the firelit room. Belle pressed up against the rock as hard as she could.

"Animals can't talk," she heard her own voice say.

A snorting laugh. "Obviously, I can."

"What kind of animal are you?"

"A beast."

Not really an answer, but thinking about it Belle wasn't sure what else to call him. He seemed to be made up of several different kinds of animals all smashed together. With human eyes. Yes, that was what had been bothering her about his gaze. His eyes were the shape and color of a man's, a darker blue than her father's. Completely wrong set into that fanged and horned head.

She summoned what little courage she had left. "Well, Monsieur Beast, sir, t-thank you for saving my life." Her teeth chattered a little as she spoke.

"You're welcome. But perhaps you might simply call me 'Beast.'" Belle nodded. "We should be getting back before the storm grows worse," said the Beast. "Unfortunately, I don't think either of us is in any shape to go all the way back to the castle tonight. There is a small hunting lodge not to too far away where we can rest and get dry. Come." He surged to his feet. Belle tried to follow, but her legs were too wobbly.

"I'm not s-sure I c-can stand," she whispered.

The Beast came up and regarded her for a long moment. Then he sighed and bent down. "Climb on, girl."

Belle managed to pull herself onto his back—barely—and he set off through the darkening forest.

"W-what about wolves or bears?" she asked. "Father told me they come out at night."

"I doubt there would be much in these woods willing to tangle with me, even at night," was the response. Belle accepted this and settled down to watch the dark trees flash hypnotically by.

-0-0-0-

The Beast could tell the girl was asleep before they reached the lodge. He could hear her deep, even breathing even above the rain on the leaves and feel her relax against him. He'd thought at first it would be humiliating, carrying a girl on his back as though he were some kind of brute of burden. An even greater descent into the world of beasts, a prince forced to all fours at last. But he found instead that he felt strangely protective of the tiny life he carried. It was oddly endearing to feel her weight and heat emanating through his fur. Though even soaking wet she was shamefully light. That man DuPont certainly hadn't been generous with his daughter's meal portions.

Once the lodge came into sight he woke her long enough to open the door. Fortunately he remembered where the key was hidden in its oilcloth wrapper in a hollow oak nearby. The hinges and bolts were rusty but still functional.

The lodge wasn't much, just a little shack from which to plan hunting forays and hold extra supplies. Any food had all rotted away after ten years but it was still snug and there were blankets and cots in a corner. The Beast set the girl to beating the dust out of the blankets while he cleared the chimney and built a fire. Her nap had recovered a little of her strength and though she was still shivering from her wet clothes she managed to hit hard enough to raise the dust.

By the time she was finished he had a cheerful little fire going. He was proud of himself for remembering the skills taught him by his father's huntmaster as a boy, and for managing to grip the flint in his massive paws without dropping it too many times. He helped the girl drag a cot close to the fire for her and lay out blankets for both of them.

"Whose place is this? And how did you know how to get in?" the girl asked once she'd settled on the cot with a blanket wrapped around her.

The Beast considered for a moment, but she was bound to find out the truth sooner or later. There was no point in not telling her. "Mine. I used to come here when I was younger."

"Yours?" She eyed him. "But…" He watched her think about this. Her eyes narrowed. "My father once mentioned the prince's hunting lodge was out in the woods somewhere. He wanted to break in because it hadn't been used in years and it wasn't doing anyone any good just sitting there."

He found himself mildly impressed. "I am the prince. Or at least, I was." He glanced down at his paws with a sigh.

She looked skeptical and a little nervous. "You're the prince? My father sold me to _you_?"

"He doesn't know I look like this," said the Beast. "No one outside the castle knows." He saw her face and added, "I didn't bring you in to eat you, or whatever other dire things you might be imagining. I don't eat people. I'm not that kind of animal."

She still looked suspicious.

"Look, girl, if I were going to eat you, I've had plenty of opportunity before now," he pointed out irritably. "True?"

She nodded reluctantly, but he could hear her heartbeat start to slow. She believed him—barely.

"How did it happen?" she asked, with a slight wave to indicate his appearance.

"As insane as it sounds, a magic spell." He explained about the Enchantress, the rose, and the curse. She followed it all with rapt attention. He concluded with, "And so I have to find a woman to love, and have her fall in love with me, before the rose wilts, which will be soon. When your father said he had a daughter…well, I hoped you'd be older. I was desperate. So I agreed to the indenture without thinking things all the way through."

"I'm sorry I'm not grown up and I can't help break your curse," she said sadly.

She seemed so genuinely remorseful, the Beast was touched. "It's not your fault you weren't born a few years earlier. I was a fool to hope the curse could be broken at all. What woman in her right mind could learn to love a beast, even one pretending he's still a prince?"

She thought about it, and nodded that he had a point. "But you're human inside, right?"

"As human as you are."

"And the Silent Man? The curse is the reason he can't speak?"

"His name is Jacques, and yes. And the servants are all invisible." The Beast thought with amusement about telling Jacques the girl had dubbed him the Silent Man. But that reminded him of something else.

"What was your name? I forgot my manners and never asked."

The girl smiled sleepily. "Oh. I'm Belle. Belle DuPont. You don't have to waste good manners on a worthless thing like me."

This frank statement took him slightly aback. "Why do you say that? Because you're a peasant and I'm the prince?"

"My father once told one of the village boys that when he apologized for pushing me into the mud." She settled down under the blanket and closed her eyes.

The Beast felt a mild sense of outrage that a father could say such a thing in front of his own child. "You're not worthless," he blurted.

She shrugged, clearly half asleep. The Beast gave up pursuing the point. That DuPont was a real piece of work, all right. The Beast was sorry he'd ever agreed to help him out of his debts. But then this poor skinny chit of a thing would still be under his thumb.

Why had no one ever brought this to his attention? He supposed what DuPont had been doing to his daughter wasn't illegal, so no one thought it worth bothering the prince about it. The law said girls belonged to their fathers until they married, and then they belonged to their husbands. A father could do as he liked to his daughters as long as he didn't kill them. Including, he thought with a glance at Belle's too-thin face, underfeed them and tell them they meant nothing.

Well, at the very least he could make sure the girl got enough to eat while she was under his indenture.

The warmth of the fire was also lulling him to sleep. He sighed and closed his eyes. Jacques would be beside himself with worry that neither his Master nor Belle had returned yet, but there was nothing to be done but wait until morning when they could make their way back to the castle. With luck, the storm would also have passed by then.

-0-0-0-

When Belle woke again, weak morning sun was trickling through the lodge's oilcloth windows. She looked around blearily, wondering why her body ached so much. Her father hadn't been around to beat her recently. Then she remembered falling into the stream and bouncing off several rocks while underwater. That would explain the lingering bruises.

She sat up and looked around. The fire had died to mere ashes, but now that she was dry she wasn't too cold. On the floor on top of a rumpled pile of blankets lay the Beast, still fast asleep. She regarded him in the greater light. He was no less monstrous than when she'd first seen him; the huge, powerful form and sharp claws proclaimed to the world how dangerous he could be. Yet looking at him completely relaxed and letting out the occasional soft snore, he frightened her less and less. She'd started to relax when she realized he'd saved her from drowning. No one had ever gone so out on a limb for her in her life. He certainly didn't act like an animal. She wasn't entirely sure she believed his claim to be the prince transformed by a spell, but that could wait for more evidence before she made up her mind. Certainly there was something very strange going on at the castle and everything she'd seen added up with what he'd told her, including answering the puzzle of why he'd brought her to live there in the first place when he clearly didn't need another servant.

What was he going to do with her now? She couldn't help him break the spell, not if he needed a grown-up woman to fall in love him like in the fairy tales her mother had once told her before bedtime. She did find it somewhat comforting that he hadn't sent her back to her father when he'd found out she wasn't the answer he needed. Maybe the contract said he couldn't send her back until her term was up. Maybe...she dared hope he'd let her stay.

While she continued mulling over these things, she swung her bare feet to the floor and began quietly exploring the lodge. She was hoping to find some preserved food, but had no luck. The bread and cheese in her pocket had been ruined by her fall into the stream. Disappointed, she turned back around to find the Beast was awake.

"What are you doing?" he asked, running a paw through his mane to straighten it.

"Looking for some food," she said.

"There won't be any. We'll have to go back to the castle if we want breakfast."

Together they quickly set the lodge to rights, he tending to the last of the fire while she folded the blankets and put them away. He locked up behind them and they set off in the direction he claimed the castle was. Belle wondered what her father would think when he next came across the hunting lodge and found signs someone had used it.

Belle ignored her grumbling stomach. It wasn't the first time she'd gone without supper. At least she had a wonderful breakfast to look forward to instead of the usual few scraps. Her feet did start to hurt after awhile and when she stopped to look at them they were chafed and bleeding in a few places from walking on the forest floor barefoot. The Beast, turning back to see where she'd gotten to, noticed and insisted she ride on his back for the rest of the journey. It was an uncomfortable way to ride—his back was far too broad and not made to be sat on—until she lay flat and twined her fingers in his fur. If she accidentally pulled too hard, he made no comment.

The utter shock on the Silent Man's face—Jacques, the Beast had called him—when they appeared at one of the castle's side doors was one of the funniest things Belle had seen in awhile. They had gotten onto the grounds through a hidden back gate, since the Beast didn't want to risk being seen by anyone not belonging to the castle, so that meant they didn't go to the main doors, either. Still, someone must have seen them coming, because it was Jacques who opened the door as they approached. His shock quickly gave way to relief.

"We stayed the night at the old hunting lodge. It was too dark to make it back and we were both soaked," the Beast explained at the tilted, questioning head. Jacques made a series of swift gestures Belle didn't quite follow, but evidently the Beast did because he chuckled and said, "Yes, I think we've established she can run quite a long way when she wants to. Hopefully it won't happen again."

Belle looked down.

"Breakfast, and then baths," said the Beast. "And yes, I insist on breakfast first. I don't care that we're both filthy and the Queen wouldn't receive either of us in this state."

Both Jacques and Belle smiled at this. Jacques knelt down and examined Belle carefully, noting her feet with concern.

"I lost my shoes when I fell into the stream. I don't think I can get them back," Belle explained. Jacques's eyebrows snapped together and he looked between Belle and the Beast. At first Belle thought he was irritated at the loss of the shoes, but then she saw the concern on his face. He was more worried about the 'fell into the stream' part. "I almost drowned, but he pulled me out." She waved at the Beast.

Jacques nodded. To her surprise, and evidently the Beast's if his face was any indication, Jacques smoothed her hair and tucked a few strands behind her ear in a comforting gesture. Belle could almost hear him saying, _That must have been very frightening, but you're all right now._ Then he indicated they should follow him, Belle hoped towards breakfast.

* * *

 _Author's Note: I decided to change things up a little and not have wolves be the threat here. First of all, it's mid-fall, not the dead of winter, so they wouldn't be starved enough to go after a human, even a small one. There would still be plenty of more typical prey wandering around in the woods. Same with most other large predators. So the Beast still saves Belle, but I didn't see that either of them being seriously injured would further them getting to know each other. I just cooped them up in a shack for the night instead._


	6. Chapter 6

_Disclaimer: I do not own Beauty and the Beast._

Jacques resolved he was going to have to wrangle some more details out of either the girl or the Master about their misadventure the night before. Clearly it had involved the Master rescuing her from drowning and them spending the night hiding from the storm at the old hunting lodge. Whatever had happened, there were certainly some positive results. The girl had gone from screaming and fleeing in panic at the sight of the Master to at least relative comfort in his presence. Jacques supposed saving her life had earned the Master the right to some trust.

The Master had also warmed towards the girl surprisingly quickly. That, Jacques had not expected at all. The girl certainly had an unconscious charm—Jacques himself had almost immediately felt some warmth and sympathy for her—but the Master was a different story. Even before the spell, Jacques was one of the few with whom the prince ever let his guard down, and that had taken years of association. Yet he was already comfortable enough with the girl to make a small joke in her presence. Perhaps years of having no one to have a back-and-forth conversation with was partly responsible, but Jacques would never have predicted that the Master would be so relaxed around a girl-child. Even if she couldn't break the spell, perhaps the girl's presence would turn out to be a welcome change in all of their lives.

Or was it possible…? Jacques frowned as a thought suddenly occurred to him. If he was right, then the girl really did have a chance at making all the difference. It unfortunately depended on whether the spell would follow the letter of its own law. They had all assumed from the beginning the prince had to fall in love and the woman in question fall in love with him in return, but thinking about it, the curse's precise wording had been slightly more ambiguous than that.

Should he tell anyone about his suspicions? That was the important question. He certainly didn't want to raise false hopes. The destroyed West Wing came to mind; he did not want to invite that kind of damage again. And, the more he thought about it, the more positive he was that he didn't want to put that kind of pressure on the girl. She seemed eager to please, but feelings of the magnitude to break a magical curse, Jacques was sure, had to come from the heart and couldn't be forced. If she, or for that matter the Master, knew about this possibility it might sabotage the whole endeavor from the beginning.

He would keep this to himself, for now, he decided. He would see how things went. There might be ways to encourage the pair to spend time together without being too suspicious. He would interfere as little as possible unless he thought a tiny push was necessary. There was the rose's time limit to be considered, after all. His idea might come to nothing despite his hopes.

Still, it was more hope than he'd had in a long time.

-0-0-0-

Belle didn't think anything would ever feel as good as the hot bath she had after breakfast, even if she lived to be a thousand. With her cold, damp clothing finally removed she felt warm for the first time since last night. This time there was no hard scrubbing or nerve-wracking cutting of hair. The invisible servants gently put some kind of bitter-smelling ointment on her bruises once she was out of the tub, and dressed her in the pink dress from her first evening. Then she was shooed out into the bedroom.

Jacques was waiting. He nodded his approval to her, then read the note one of the servants handed him. He gestured to her bruises and tilted his head.

"Rocks in the stream," Belle explained. Jacques mimed sneezing and pointed to her. Belle almost smiled. "I feel all right. I don't think I'm going to get sick. Do you think anyone would mind if I explored more of the gardens today?"

Jacques considered, then shook his head. He accompanied her downstairs and slid a hooded cloak over her shoulders before sending her out a side door.

Belle resolved this time to keep better track of where she'd been so she didn't end up as lost as she had exploring the castle. The castle itself made a nice landmark; as long as she didn't let it get out of sight she could always make her way back.

The gardens were just as fascinating as the castle's interior. Belle had had no idea this many flowers existed in the world, and she could tell there were a lot more that weren't blooming because it was the middle of fall. _This place must be a riot of color in the springtime_ , she thought, happily anticipating the prospect. She wandered through rows of low bushes in geometrical patterns, bowers of climbing vines, past quiet rectangular pools and splashing round fountains. There was even a maze of tall carved hedges, which she made a mental note to stay far away from. She had no intention of getting lost in there.

When her stomach rumbled, she went back inside and found the kitchen again for lunch. It was as if the previous evening's terrors had never happened, with a difference: now she at least knew why she couldn't see anyone. While she still wasn't entirely sure she believed in the curse the Beast had told her about, knowing about it made her less nervous in wandering the castle. The Beast himself was also around somewhere, but whether he was or wasn't the prince, Belle did not fear meeting him. As he'd pointed out, he'd had plenty of chances to harm her if he wanted to.

She went back outside again after lunch. Belle was used to having time to herself, but never so much where she could do whatever she fancied for hours at a stretch. Just looking at the meadow outside the cottage and imagining herself there had been a treat. Here, there was so much beauty Belle wondered if Paradise itself might not be similar.

The afternoon sun grew warm, and Belle paused by a pool set into the ground. Before she really thought about whether or not she should do it, she removed her slippers and dangled her toes in the water.

"I used to do that as a boy," said a deep voice from behind her.

"Eep!" yelped Belle. She managed to catch herself before the hem of her dress got soaked. She'd had enough wet clothing for awhile. She turned to find the Beast standing at the entrance to this section of the gardens, watching her.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to sneak up on you."

Belle took a deep breath. "That's all right." She tucked her bare feet up and rested her chin on her knees, turning back to look at the water. The Beast came up beside her until she could just see him out of the corner of one eye.

She expected him to speak, or at least ask how she'd been spending her day. Instead he sat there in silence. After a minute or two Belle dared a sidelong glance at him, but his eyes weren't on her. He was clearly admiring the garden, just as she had been. Belle relaxed and eventually put the tips of her toes back in the pool. When she glanced at the Beast again, the corners of his lips twitched in a small smile that showed no teeth before he turned back to the view.

They sat there in companionable silence, enjoying the scene, the rustle of the leaves and the gentle slopping sounds from the pool. Belle was sure the Beast wasn't deliberately pretending she wasn't there; neither of them felt much need to say anything. Perhaps, in a silent household, he didn't feel the need to talk since he wouldn't get much of an answer. Belle was fine with that; she'd spent most of her life trying to avoid notice and her father hadn't expected her to respond in the rare times he talked to her anyway. Just the fact that she now knew no one expected her to be working was a bit of a relief.

But if she wasn't expected to work, what was she going to do with her time? Eventually it would be winter and she at least wouldn't be able to enjoy the gardens. The castle was huge, but it must have an end somewhere.

"Is something wrong?" asked the Beast.

"What?" Belle looked up at him, surprised that he'd finally spoken.

"You frowned and your shoulders slumped," he said.

"Oh." She glanced at her shoulders. "I didn't realize you were paying attention."

"After ten years with Jacques under the curse, I've gotten fairly good at reading expressions and body language. What did you think of that upset you?"

"Nothing, really."

The Beast just looked at her. Belle could see he was going to wait her out, so she sighed and said, "I was just thinking about what I'm supposed to do here, since you already have really good servants and I can't help you with your curse. My father did sell me to you."

"Almost," said the Beast. "Did no one explain your indenture to you?"

"Not really. I didn't understand what they were saying when they came to keep me from running away. Just that my father had agreed I was going to go work for the prince."

"You're under contract to me, as the prince, for seven years," said the Beast. "I have a document that your father and I both signed saying you'll work for me for that amount of time, and then his debts will be paid off. In the meantime the money goes to his creditors."

"Creditors?"

"Didn't you know? Your father has been deeply in debt many times. He's been in jail for it and brought before me for sentencing…I believe on five separate occasions in the last six years. I'd had enough of it, so I was going to order him to sell his tavern. He offered me his daughter instead."

Belle sighed. That sounded like Father, all right. She hadn't known their money troubles were that bad, aside from selling things she loved like their horse and cow. But it did explain the times he'd disappeared without warning for days—he'd actually been in jail. And of course he wouldn't tell her that. She felt the crust around her heart tighten again. As if she needed more proof her father cared not a whit about her. He'd sold her to the prince rather than let go of his beloved tavern.

She wasn't going to cry. She wasn't. Crying had never gotten her anywhere before. She'd learned to swallow her tears and just keep going.

"I'm truly sorry," rumbled the Beast from next to her. "Perhaps I should have phrased it more gently."

"No," sighed Belle, surprising herself with being frank. "I should have already known my father would do something like that."

"Still, I'm sorry. It hurts to realize a parent doesn't care."

Belle turned to look at him, startled. The Beast glanced away briefly, then faced her. "I'm about to tell you a story I've never told anyone else."

"I won't tell, I promise!" Belle assured him.

This got a smile from him. "I'm not worried about who you'll tell; a lot of the servants know already because they were here when I was young. I don't like to talk about my mother, that's all.

"Now that I'm grown and I look back, I realize my mother was young and foolish. She was married to my father when she had barely outgrown childhood. She was far more interested in parties and beautiful gowns than having a child of her own. She had to produce an heir because she was a princess married to a prince, but once she'd had a son, she was allowed to do just as she pleased. She never had time for me; she was always busy planning another party or buying more jewels or something else that needed her attention. I saw her perhaps once a week, if that.

"My father did his best, and I was closer to him, but he was very busy running the province, and when he wasn't here he was at the court in Versailles. Sometimes he was away for months, and while he was gone my mother ignored me entirely. I tried so hard to make her notice me but nothing I did ever made any difference. I badly wanted her to love me and I wondered what I'd done to make her hate me instead. Eventually I gave up trying to get her attention, but I never let go of hoping maybe one day she'd look at me differently than she looked at her gowns from the previous season. I realize now she just wasn't capable of caring for anyone but herself."

"Where is she now?" asked Belle.

"She died when I was twelve. I was raised by tutors for a few years, and then my father began taking me with him on his trips to the capitol and training me to one day run the province in his place. He died when I was seventeen, and I became the prince."

Belle digested this. "My mother died, too. I think I was five."

"You think? How old are you now?"

"Ten? Maybe?"

"Hmmm." The Beast rumbled in the back of his throat, and they were silent again for awhile. Belle thought about what the Beast had said about his mother. She understood why he didn't want to talk about her much. Unlike him, Belle had never tried very hard to get her father to love her, but she thought she knew what the Beast had been trying to tell her: her father might also be incapable of caring about anyone but himself. It wasn't exactly a comfort, but at the same time, it did help a little. She appreciated the effort.

"Thank you," she said softly.

"You're welcome."

By mutual unspoken agreement they went back inside the castle very shortly afterwards. They were met by Jacques, who informed them, with the Beast translating for Belle, that they could have dinner together or separately if they wished. The Beast looked to Belle for an opinion.  
"I wouldn't mind eating together," she said.

The Beast looked a little surprised but not unhappy, Jacques looked pleased. He let the pair into a smaller dining room than the vast one Belle had marveled at the previous day. The table was already set for two. Belle plunked herself down on the closest chair and once the Beast had settled himself opposite her the rolling trays began coming into the room from a door on the far side.

-0-0-0-

Jacques found himself utterly appalled by the girl's table manners and wondered why he had ever suggested she and the Master eat together. The Master might be getting some entertainment out of watching her—at least she had the good sense to use utensils!—but Jacques was more horrified than amused. She held the knife and fork all wrong, she had her elbows on the table, she chewed with her mouth open. He supposed it was to be expected, since she was a peasant, but Jacques had never seen anything like this, even among the newest servants. They at least knew how to sit properly at a table. He had to fight off the urge to start correcting her, but he restrained himself. Such a thing should not be done in front of the Master. He would have to wait and speak to the girl, as much as he was able to do, privately. Perhaps he could start showing her how to do things properly at breakfast, when she was certain to be dining alone.

He had to remind himself that she likely had had no one to show her manners. Monsieur DuPont had never mentioned a wife in all the times he'd been brought before the prince, and he himself exhibited a certain boorish air that always set Jacques's teeth on edge. Jacques had to admit he liked things clean and in a certain order. Considering the state of the girl when she'd arrived, Jacques thought, they were lucky she wasn't eating with her hands.

Not that the Master would be fairing much better with his huge clawed paws, but for ten years of practice handling cutlery and dishware not designed for someone of his immense size. He had been determined from the beginning to hang on to as much of his humanity as possible, and eating at a table using plates and silverware had been something he'd forced himself to re-learn how to do early on.

The girl of course finished first. To Jacques's surprise, she did not immediately jump up, but instead sat still and waited for the Master. The Master was almost in a meditative state as he concentrated on the process of cutting up his food and putting it into his mouth. The girl watched this process with keen interest and Jacques noticed she quietly picked up her knife and fork and rearranged her grip on them so that they matched the Master's. Then she put them down again, no doubt thinking herself unobserved.

Jacques smiled to himself. Teaching someone so eager to learn would not be as difficult as he'd feared. He was sure he could spare some time to instruct her. He still wasn't sure what else she could do with her day, but at least he could provide that.

The girl did stand when the Master was finished. "I think I can find my way back to my room by myself," she said. "Two rights and a left from the top of the stairs?"

Jacques nodded, and she left, covering a yawn.

"A guest at dinner, after all this time," said the Master. He was still looking at the door with a bemused expression. "Who would have imagined?"

Jacques smiled and shrugged.

"And so refined," added the Master with a grin. Jacques made a terrible face at him. "I could see you wincing all the way across the room. When do you begin lessons?"

Jacques had to smile. The Master knew him too well, to guess what had been going through Jacques's mind during the meal. He mimed the sun rising and putting a fork to his mouth to indicate _breakfast._

The Master nodded his approval. "Ask her first. But I don't think she'll object."

Jacques, suddenly inspired, wrote, _I will do my best. But without her ability to read, I fear I and the other servants will have difficulties communicating with her in the long run._

"Hmmm," rumbled the Beast thoughtfully.

Jacques did not allow himself a satisfied smile, but he knew the seed had been planted. His work for the night was done.

* * *

 _Author's Note: And I bet all you intelligent people out there will guess what's coming next. Training montage! ::cue music from Rocky::_

 _Just kidding._

 _Yes, Jacques has started to figure out what several of you astute folks out there have already guessed: because of its specific wording, Belle_ can _break the curse. Jacques outlines my reasons for why he keeps this revelation to himself. One of the Stockholm Syndrome arguments about Beauty and the Beast is that the Beast is using Beauty as a means to an end—to get his humanity back—while she has no idea she he needs her love to break the curse. There is somewhat of a power imbalance in this dynamic, and while I don't think either the original or the Disney version are accurate examples of Stockholm Syndrome (for several reasons, the most compelling being that the Beast lets her go) it is still enough to make people uncomfortable and question whether this truly is a relationship of equals when you have_ that _bombshell dangling overhead. However, if Belle knew everything, I'm not sure the relationship would be able to progress in an organic or genuine way because there'd be this sense of obligation to it even if Belle didn't feel used. So it's essentially a lose-lose. I think the Beast takes the better of a bad set of options (because his situation didn't suck enough already) and hopes that a woman who can learn to love a Beast will see him for what he truly is no matter what form he wears and will understand why he didn't tell her the full truth._

 _I've played with this in my two most recent retellings. In_ Kissed By a Rose, _I had Belle guess about the curse as a way of evening some of that power dynamic (and because she's observant and well-read), even if she doesn't know she's the key to breaking it. In_ Eistier _, the Beast didn't particularly view his situation as a curse. Here, Belle is told upfront about the curse and neither she nor the Beast believe a relationship between them can break it, so their interactions are generally free to develop naturally. Minus Jacques's hopeful meddling, of course._


	7. Chapter 7

_Disclaimer: I do not own Beauty and the Beast_

The Beast made it a point to be waiting when Belle came out of her rooms the next morning. He was glad to see she didn't look particularly annoyed, which mean Jacques's first lesson hadn't been a complete failure.

She actually smiled when she saw him, which took him aback. Why would someone's first instinct on seeing a huge, ugly creature be to smile? But she seemed genuinely pleased to see him.

"Good morning," he said. "What were you planning on doing today?"

"More exploring the gardens, I guess. Why?"

"I've been thinking about how you are to occupy your time while you are here. As a start, would you like to learn to read?" After mulling over what Jacques had said the previous night, the Beast had reluctantly decided his steward was right. The girl needed to learn to read if she was going to get along in the castle. And he, the Beast, was the best equipped to teach her.

He was rewarded with her eyes lighting up. "Really? I'd love to read notes from Jacques and the others instead of trying to guess what they want. Do you think I can learn? I mean, am I smart enough to read?"

"Of course, girl. That's not even a question," he rumbled. "I'm often busy in the afternoons, but would you like to meet for a few hours after breakfast? I can give you lessons, and then leave you things to work on that I can check the next morning. That's how my tutors taught me."

"You mean start right now?" Belle's eyes were huge.

"Yes, right now."

She only had to think for a moment before she nodded.

"Come on, then."

"Where are we going?" Belle trailed after him, then had to trot a few steps to catch up when she realized he wasn't going to wait for her now that the decision was made.

"The library."

"You have a library?"

"Indeed. It's quite extensive. My grandfather was a scholar and a collector of books so he amassed quite a few over the course of his lifetime. He had to build a whole new wing to accommodate them, and my father and I both have added even more books over the years, though we've not been so dedicated as Grand-Père was."

Belle had fallen behind again and he paused to let her catch up. Her steps were slow and her shoulders a little hunched.

"Come, there's nothing to be nervous about. It's one of my favorite places in the castle. Everyone goes in there at some point even if only to look at it. Not many other places have a library this large. All of the servants can borrow any book they like—Jacques persuaded me that they needed some diversion after the curse. Jacques himself only reads for pleasure when he's ill and stuck in bed; the rest of the time he says he's too busy running the household." He smiled down at her and got a tiny smile in return. Her shoulders came down half an inch.

"Here we are." He threw open the doors and they stepped into the room, which was full of bright autumn sunlight. Lining all the walls between the high windows were shelves and shelves of books of all descriptions. The Beast took a deep breath. He loved how it smelled in here; the faint scents of leather, cloth, ink, glue and parchment never ceased to comfort him. These books had been his companions all his life. They had comforted him when his mother ignored him as a child, helped him learn to become a competent ruler as an adolescent, and provided an escape after the curse had taken hold. The thought of sharing them with someone else was oddly exciting, as if he were introducing someone new to friends he himself had known for years.

Belle, for her part, seemed equal parts curious and intimidated. She looked around at everything but hovered close, almost but not quite brushing his clothing. The Beast led the way towards the far end, where a good-sized alcove had been set up for use as a schoolroom, originally for the use of his father and his two aunts when they were young. Later it had been used by he himself and his tutors. It was partially closed off from the main area with large Oriental painted screens, to afford some privacy to those trying to learn. Belle relaxed further once they were inside; the large open space seemed to make her uncomfortable.

Shorter shelves stocked with primers and other books meant for learning were tucked under the windows in this area; other shelves held chalk and slates. The Beast directed Belle to fetch two slates and several pieces of chalk.

"We'll start with the alphabet," he said. He painstakingly tried to draw an 'A' on one of the slates and immediately broke the chalk. The pieces were now too small for him to use. He grumbled and tried another.

Four pieces of chalk later, Belle was relaxing and giggling at his struggles and he had finally managed to figure out the extremely delicate touch he needed to write on the slate. His annoyance was only mild, however, and he was having some trouble not finding the entire episode humorous. It was possibly the first time he'd found anything remotely funny about the limitations the curse placed on him.

He drew a big 'A' and a small 'a' on his slate with great care and had Belle copy them on her own slate using one of the smaller pieces of chalk created from the several he'd broken. Then he wrote several words that began with the letter, just to show her in context, then moved on to 'B.' Slowly they found a rhythm. As he had suspected, once she settled into it Belle showed a natural affinity for learning. By the end of their session when both of their stomachs had begun to growl, she had copied the big and small versions of each letter at least once. The Beast showed her one of the primers which had the alphabet printed on a page that she could use for reference, and directed her to copy each letter multiple times before the next day. Lastly she was to create him an alphabet on her slate and make certain it was her very best copy of each letter, for him to check the following morning.

They parted for lunch, she to her rooms and he to the West Wing. He and Jacques had a great deal of sums to add up as more of the harvest was coming in and the peasants' tributes and rent were making their way to the castle. Then he had a letter from one of his aunts he had to answer—his father's sisters wrote him sporadically but fortunately never asked to visit. As long as he wrote back to them in a timely manner and referenced as little of his own personal life as possible in his correspondence, neither of them had ever become worried to his knowledge. Aunt Elisabeth sometimes made token noises about finding a nice heiress and providing the province with a future prince and Aunt Marie-Charlotte occasionally asked him if he was ever going to bestir himself to come to Versailles, but they were both easily put off. They had their own lives and families to manage. In this particular letter, Aunt Elisabeth wrote that her first grandchild was due in a few months. That would keep her good and distracted from thinking overmuch about her bachelor nephew.

Once or twice as the afternoon wore on he dispatched Jacques to check on Belle. She had spent a few hours after lunch out in the gardens, he reported, and then retreated to the library. She appeared to be working hard at her slate, enough that Jacques did not want to distract her by approaching.

This new routine felt like the beginning of a pattern. If so, the Beast decided, it was without doubt a more agreeable one. Teaching Belle in the mornings would certainly ensure that every day would no longer be exactly like the one before.

Tomorrow afternoon there was to be a general court where criminal cases would be presented before the prince for his judgment. It took a great deal out of him to be able to sit wrapped in the cloak for hours at a time hearing and passing judgment on sometimes-difficult cases, so he decided to go to bed early and take a light supper in his room rather than seek out Belle's company for dinner.

For the first time since Monsieur DuPont's trial his sleep was relaxed and dreamless.

-0-0-0-

Belle's mind was still happily buzzing over the things she had learned, so much so that she hardly noticed this morning was gray, cold and drizzling. There would be no time in the gardens this afternoon if the weather remained like this, as it looked to do. Even with the rain, Belle had never imagined she'd be able to wake happily anticipating the day.

She carefully practiced holding her utensils correctly, as Jacques had demonstrated the previous morning and she'd seen the Beast doing when he ate. This morning he added a new lesson: keeping her elbows off the table. This Belle found more difficult to remember since there were times when it was just more convenient to place them there. She vowed to try, though she wondered who had thought up this rule since it just seemed awkward. Jacques shrugged and made a "not me" gesture when she asked. Still, he insisted that this was what polite people did when eating at a table. At least, she was fairly sure this was what he meant; she was improving at translating his gestures and facial expressions but sometimes she only got the vague meaning.

After breakfast she went off to the library to find the Beast already waiting for her. He seemed distracted until she asked him if he knew who invented the rule about keeping elbows off the table. Then he really focused on her.

"So Jacques got to that lesson this morning, did he?" he asked with a smile.

"But who came up with that rule and why would they do such a thing?"

"I have no idea. It was one of my earliest lessons about eating at a table. That and keeping my knees down and my feet on the floor. For some reason I always wanted to sit with my knees against the table's edge when I was young. My governess did everything she could to discourage me, but I tended to ignore her when eating alone until I eventually grew tall enough that it was no longer comfortable to do so. So long as I never did it in company I didn't get into too much trouble. Sometimes knowing when you can get away with certain things and when they're not appropriate is half the battle when all the rules seem too much to manage." He gave her a conspiratorial wink.

Belle vowed to remember this, since she had a feeling there would be many more of Jacques's rules for proper behavior coming that would make little sense to her.

She shyly handed him the slate she'd slaved over the previous afternoon, making sure every letter was as perfect as she could make it. He examined it. "Very good. The 'S' is backwards, but other than that these are excellently formed."

Belle flushed and looked at her toes. Somehow that had escaped her notice.

"It's a small mistake, and an easy one for a beginner to make. This afternoon I want you to write out proper 'S's a few times for me to check tomorrow in addition to the work I'll give you later."

They picked up where they'd left off the previous day, with Belle copying out more letters and going over easy words in the primer. So absorbed was Belle that she didn't mind coming straight back after lunch—the weather still being gloomy and gray—and working on forming her letters perfectly. Once she was satisfied with the results, however, her thoughts turned to what to do next. It was still the middle of the afternoon.

Her steps took her back towards her room, though what she was going to do when she got there, she wasn't sure. However, she slowed when she heard unfamiliar voices. With a frown, she began following them towards their source.

The sounds led her to an ajar door. Peering around it, she found a disused gallery looking down on a large rectangular room. While not as big as the grand dining room, it was still impressive. Below her were people arrayed in small groups in an order that clearly made sense to them. At the far end was a low set of stairs that led up to a wide platform. Interestingly, a set of curtains was set up in the center of the platform, hanging in roughly a box around something concealed inside. Belle could see a large, vaguely human shape that moved just enough to show it was alive. It had strange spikey things poking out of its head.

Curious, Belle slowly crept further into the gallery. No one below looked up to see the young girl peering down at them. The gallery itself stretched nearly the full length of the room, so Belle began to make her way as quietly as possible nearer to the set of curtains. She wanted to see if she could tell what was inside them; she guessed she'd have a fairly good vantage point from this high above.

The question was answered for her when a deep voice issued from inside the curtains; it was the Beast. Was he really concealed behind those curtains? Why was he there? Belle crept closer until she could clearly hear what he was saying to the group of men nearest him.  
"…for the crime of theft I hereby sentence you to one full day in the public stocks. After that you shall be set free with a warning: if you are brought before me for theft again, the punishment will not be so lenient. Am I understood?"

"Yes, sire," said the young man being held in chains. He was pulled away by a big man and led out of the room, to be replaced by another man in chains, this one slightly older. Another man also stepped forward and began to read off of a sheet of paper, describing a crime the chained man was believed to have committed. Once he was finished, others stepped forward to offer evidence, and the chained man was also allowed to speak and defend himself.

For the first time Belle was very glad she'd learned the art of creeping around the cottage nearly soundlessly to avoid attracting her father's attention. It allowed her to sneak ever closer to the front of the room while still listening to what was being said. Finally she reached a good spot that allowed her to kneel down and look down between the slats in the gallery's stone railing and see what was going on behind the curtains while still avoid being noticed by anyone in the rest of the room.

From here, she could see the Beast clearly. He wore a crown on his head that somehow fit neatly around his horns, and had an enormous piece of cloth draped around his huge frame, leaving only his head exposed. Belle studied this setup with great interest, then moved back down the gallery until she could see the figure behind the curtains as he must appear to the rest of the room. The spikey things were his crown and the points of his horns, but looking at it from the outside you couldn't tell which were which. It looked enough like a large man wearing a crown and a robe behind the curtains that unless you knew the truth, as Belle did, it would never occur to you that a great hulking horned creature was actually concealed inside.

Now she noticed Jacques was also standing in a corner nearby, with the air of someone ready to assist at a moment's notice.

If she hadn't already been mostly convinced the Beast was telling the truth about actually being the prince, she believed it now. As the prince, he still had to rule, and apparently judging criminals was part of that. She could easily imagine Jacques coming up with something like this to allow him to continue speaking with his subjects without frightening them. And it seemed to work. No one in the room seemed disconcerted with having to speak to the prince through a curtain.

Belle continued to watch as the cases proceeded. They took on a pattern of presenting the crime, the evidence, and then the Beast making a judgment. Some people clearly felt as if they deserved whatever punishment was meted out, some got angry and argued. The Beast never reversed a judgment once he'd made it. Indeed, he tended to remain as silent as possible unless he absolutely had to say something.

Belle thought other people might find this process boring, but she was fascinated. Each case was different and interesting. Belle even recognized a few people from her village once or twice presenting as witnesses. And the Beast had to know quite a lot, to figure out what was appropriate for each situation and decide on a fitting punishment. Sometimes he decided the person in question was innocent. From what she was hearing, his decisions largely seemed fair to Belle, and the other people below respected his judgments. He'd obviously been doing this awhile.

Belle was just starting to think she should find her way back to her rooms in time for dinner when there was a commotion. One of the last men brought forward for justice—he reminded Belle somewhat of her father, but he was blond and not quite so tall—obviously disagreed with his sentence. Yelling incoherently, he managed to escape the other men holding him back and rain for the curtains. He still had chains on his wrists, but what he planned to do Belle had no idea. Nothing good, that was certain. He was also in for an unpleasant surprise should he manage to see what actually lurked behind the concealing curtains. She leapt to her feet, heedless of who below might notice her.

There was a lot of shouting and flurries of motion. In seconds, things resolved. The man had been caught by those he'd escaped and was being dragged back down the steps. He'd come within a few feet of the curtains. Jacques, moving faster than Belle had thought a man could move, had placed himself bodily between the escapee and the curtains, forming a final defense of his own person. Belle was deeply impressed by the slender, bewigged man's courage and loyalty. Jacques had risked getting pretty badly hurt if the man turned on him. Everyone else in the room might think Jacques was just playing bodyguard to the prince because that was what was expected of a servant, but Belle knew better. He would protect the Beast's secret at all costs.

Belle let out a breath she couldn't recall holding. She sagged against the stone railing. The suddenness of it all still had her heart racing. As quietly as she was able she snuck back along the gallery and out into the hallway, where she leaned on the wall near the door to get her breath fully under control.

Poor Beast! Poor Jacques! That one moment could have ruined everything. How many of those had there been since the curse had been cast? Hopefully not too many. Still, it was definitely nerve-wracking. That they held court at all in front of all those people with such a risk of the secret getting out was very brave.

Once she had her breath back, she started down the hall. Only a few wrong turns later she found herself outside her own door. Dinner arrived on its tray a few minutes later.

Despite the scare at the end, Belle hoped she could watch another court someday. She had thoroughly enjoyed most of it. Perhaps there was a way to find out when it was being held, or maybe the Beast would agree to let her watch from the gallery if she asked. She wasn't sure she had the courage, but perhaps she could find it inside her to screw up her nerve and ask.

She hadn't wanted anything this much in a long time.

* * *

 _Author's Note: When my brother was young, he had a thing about wanting to put his knees on the edge of the table while he ate. Then I started doing it too, because he was getting away with it. It took awhile before our mother was finally able to break us both of it! I'm sure we drove her nuts, but when I was thinking about bad manners at the table it immediately came to mind._

 _The Beast's sentiments about knowing when to ignore etiquette rules also very neatly follows my own philosophy about the rules and guidelines for writing (syntax, punctuation, use of clichés, and so on): know the rules and best practices intimately first, then make informed decisions about when and how to break them rather than following them blindly. Breaking them in ignorance is poor writing and shows you're still inexperienced at the craft, breaking them on purpose can serve you well and give your writing flair when executed judiciously._

 _I didn't do much researching into how the justice system operated in France in the 18th century; what you see here is made up of my imagination and what little I know of 18th century legal practice and feudal law. It likely has more in common with the American colonial judicial system than the French, but it's far from accurate to that, either._


	8. Chapter 8

_Disclaimer: I do not own Beauty and the Beast._

The Beast slept late the following morning. Not only had the court session left him drained, but there hadn't been a close call like that in years. The man had actually gotten close enough to almost touch the curtains before he was caught and hauled away.

Jacques had immediately set one of the invisible footmen to follow the man for as long as he was still in the castle and eavesdrop. That evening the footman reported that the man only seemed angry about the judgment handed down. He hadn't seemed frightened or disturbed, nor did he mention to anyone glimpsing anything out of the ordinary behind the curtain. From this, Jacques and the Beast concluded that they were safe. The curtains had done their job.

Still, it took the Beast hours to completely calm down enough to sleep at all. As soon as he could reasonably extricate himself from cloak, crown and curtains he had gone for a hard run all the way around the castle grounds. That had worked off most of his nervous energy and the animal dislike of being cooped up for hours, but even while he ate dinner he could see his knife shaking slightly in his paw. Relaxing enough to sleep was very difficult and his dreams were fitful and disturbed.

The morning was nearly half over by the time he went to the library to find Belle. The girl was paging through one of the primers sounding out letters she recognized, and she had filled all the available slates she could find with practicing her alphabet. She looked up, saw him, and seemed to tense and shrink back simultaneously. Throughout the morning she was very quiet and several times he caught her watching him out of the corners of her eyes when she should have been looking at her slate. She went to extra pains to do everything he told her as perfectly as possible, but she lacked the enthusiasm he'd come to associate with her while she was in the schoolroom. When it was time for lunch she all but fled the library, walking in such a way that while she moved quickly, her slippered feet made almost no noise. As a man, he might not have noticed any of these things, but his enhanced animal senses told him something was off about her behavior.

What had caused this change? She had been full of vibrancy the past few days, eager to learn all he showed her. Today she had been subdued, a shadow of her usual self. He asked Jacques if he had noticed anything strange about her behavior at his breakfast etiquette lessons, but the steward shrugged in puzzlement and reported she had seemed perfectly fine. Better than fine, she had appeared in a good mood.

The Beast was so concerned that he snuck back into the library himself to observe Belle while she was working on her assignments that afternoon. Perhaps between breakfast and his arrival she had begun to feel under the weather.

No, now she seemed perfectly content, even humming to herself slightly as she scribbled. What was wrong with her this morning?

It was on his way back to the West Wing when it hit him like a ton of bricks. It was him. She was afraid of him. She had immediately sensed when he arrived that he was not in the best mood and she feared what he might do if she antagonized him in any way. Her demeanor had been like a deer keeping an eye on a bear across a clearing, one that might or might not be hungry. Even her movements had been calculated to be quieter and draw less attention than usual, and she wasn't exactly a noisy child to begin with. She had grown so comfortable around him since he had saved her from the stream that to see her uneasy had gotten his attention.

Now he felt every inch the monster he appeared. He hadn't intended to frighten her again. Yet she had to be well aware of the harm he could do her if he so chose. He wouldn't—he had a better lid on the animal side of himself than that and he'd never been the type of noble who struck someone who offended him—but she had no way of knowing that. They still had only been acquainted for a few days. And from things he'd gathered about her father, she had good reason to tread with great care around things that were large and powerful and in a bad mood.

She seemed more her usual self the following morning, but he still felt compelled to say, "Belle, I'm sorry if I made you nervous yesterday."

He'd startled her. "What? Yesterday?" The slight darting of her eyes told him she knew exactly what he meant, however.

"I just didn't sleep very well. I might have been grouchy, but it had nothing to do with you. I…I don't want you to be scared of me." This last sentence had just popped out unbidden.

Belle stared at him for a long time. Her posture still said she was wary, but he thought he saw reluctant trust in her eyes. Her eventual smile was small, but real. "I _was_ a little scared of you yesterday," she admitted. "I didn't think you noticed."

"I could tell you were nervous and taking extra care to be as quiet as possible. I thought perhaps you weren't feeling well but when I came back to check on you later you seemed fine. Then I realized it must have been me making you nervous. I didn't mean it, I promise. I know that doesn't mean much coming from a monster like me," he glanced sadly as his paws, "but I truly didn't intend to scare you."

"Oh, you're not a monster," said Belle breezily. "At least, I don't think so. No monster would apologize for scaring someone."

A short laugh huffed its way out of the Beast, but he could tell that despite the slightly humorous edge to her voice she meant it sincerely. Her childish logic touched him. He'd gotten so used to thinking of himself as a monster, something to be hidden away and feared, but he supposed she did have a point. There were many ways to be a monster; he'd striven hard over the years to be one in form only but he'd never felt he truly succeeded. No matter what he did, unless he completed the impossible task of finding a woman to love him, he would always be a Beast. Belle, on the other hand, offered a different way of looking at things. She'd lived with a monster who masqueraded as a man all her life. She, more than most others, would know the difference.

"Thank you," he said.

"You're welcome," said Belle. She gave him a sweet grin and held out a slate for his inspection.

On the surface, their lives did take on a pattern over the next three weeks as the Beast had predicted. However, any tedium was mitigated, at least for the Beast, by the progress Belle was making in her studies. For a girl with no book learning until age ten—he had begun his own formal education at four—she learned quickly and worked extremely hard. She could recognize short words and was beginning easy sentences. She carried a slate and chalk with her everywhere now and she and the servants were enthusiastically communicating using them. Jacques reported that even her small vocabulary was enormously helpful thus far. If the servants had to use a word she didn't know, Belle could often sound it out or apply to Jacques for clues from gestures. Very rarely, she had to come to the Beast for help.

On fine days, Belle still spent a decent amount of the afternoon outside before coming to the library. Sometimes when he didn't have too much paperwork the Beast would join her and they'd roam the gardens together. To his amusement and Jacques's chagrin, Belle developed a band of faint freckles across the bridge of her nose from all the time in the sun. Jacques began insisting she wear a wide-brimmed straw hat to protect her complexion and though Belle was outwardly compliant, sometimes she did slip it off once they were out of sight of the castle. It seemed she had taken the Beast's words about etiquette to heart.

One evening the Beast came into the library to say goodnight to Belle to find she was done with her assignments for the day and wandering the shelves, wistfully trailing her fingers down the spines. He could see the longing in her face and posture: she yearned to be able to pull down these books and access what they contained. It tugged at his heart.

"Belle," he said, very softly so as not to startle her.

She turned with a smile. "Good evening. I was just…looking. I know I can't read these yet."

"Not yet." His mind drifted back to when he was younger. Even before he could read properly himself, his nurse had read to him at bedtime from books that were too advanced for him but she knew he would enjoy. They'd continued the tradition for years after he was perfectly capable of reading any book he chose on his own; he'd found her voice soothing. "Would you like me to choose one to read to you?"

Her eyes lit. "Really? Would you? I'd like that very much."

The Beast tried to recall what books he had enjoyed at her age. He had been very fond of adventure stories such as _Robinson Crusoe_ , _Gulliver's Travels_ and the tales of Robin Hood. But he had also enjoyed the old classics like _Le Morte d'Arthur_ , _The Aeneid_ and _The Odyssey._ Then he remembered something his nurse had begun reading to him when he was around Belle's age but had never gotten the chance to finish because she had left to care for one of his much younger cousins. The _One Thousand and One Nights_. He had occasionally wondered about the conclusion but for some reason had never returned to the book—it had seemed to belong firmly in his childhood and not the adult world he was entering. He recalled it being full of all kinds of stories: adventure, mystery, romance, and fantasy. He thought the variety might appeal to someone so new to the world of books and stories as Belle.

"I think I have something in mind," he said. He led her off down the rows of shelves and pulled down a thick book bound in blue leather. Belle ran a finger over the embossed gold lettering of the title, then looked up at him.

" _One Thousand and One Nights_ ," the Beast read out for her. "Come over here by the fire. These are stories that are supposed to be told at night, right before bed, so I think they'll be perfect."

-0-0-0-

Jacques poked his head past the library's door as quietly as he was able. He knew the Master had come in here to find Belle, but neither of them had emerged. The fire was still burning, he saw, so likely they were still in here.

There, seated side by side on a comfortable couch before the fire, sat the pair he was looking for. The Beast was hunched over a book in his lap, reading aloud. The girl leaned in close, hanging on his every word. They were clearly both totally absorbed in the story. Belle showed absolutely no fear in the Beast's presence, while he in turn was at perfect ease with no sign of discomfort or awkwardness, even when he occasionally fumbled turning a page.

 _Well, who'd have thought?_ Jacques said to himself. _No one could have imagined a more different pair. And they didn't exactly have the most enviable beginning, but they seem to be finding more common ground than anyone, including them, suspected. Maybe she is the right person to reach him, when no grown woman could have touched his heart while it was burdened with all of his responsibilities and this dreadful curse besides. By some miracle of fate she appears to need him just as much, deprived of any encouraging, protective presence as she has been in her young life._

 _And who'd have guessed they'd come together on their own? I thought I was going to have to work a great deal harder to get them to spend time together, but here they are seeking each other out with no prompting from me at all. I suppose they were both so lonely it might have been inevitable, but I still see something special growing right before my eyes._

His mind was already arrowing ahead. His table etiquette lessons had begun largely because of his own scruples about what constituted proper behavior, but they could prove much more useful than he'd thought if the girl would be staying on, as was looking increasingly likely. She would need to know so much more than basic manners if she were to be a credit to the prince. Even if the curse were not broken—perish the thought—there would still inevitably be times when she might be called upon to represent the Master—the presence of a human being who could speak could in fact prove to be very valuable in many ways that Jacques hadn't even begun to consider until this moment. That she was a little girl was an obstacle, but she wouldn't always be. She was bound to be here for at least seven years, and at the end of that time she would be seventeen—nearly a woman grown. And in that time, there was a great deal she could learn, not only from books, but also from him about how to conduct herself properly as a representative of the Master and his house.

He could afford to take his time with the lessons and introduce new things gradually. There was no need to spring everything on the girl at once—she would be with them for quite some time. The prince himself had had schooling for years before he was trusted to go out in public as a royal representative. Still, the entire situation was rife with possibilities.

With a smile, Jacques slid his head out of the room again and closed the door without a creak.

* * *

 _Author's Note: The first published European translation of the_ Thousand and One Nights _, often titled in English_ The Arabian Nights _, was into French in the first decade of the 18th century. It was so popular that many editions were soon in print and it was rapidly translated into other European languages as well. There are a lot of discrepancies between editions, and some of the stories best associated with the_ Thousand and One Nights, _most notably the tale of Aladdin,_ _were not in the original Arabic collections of the tales but were added later from other near-Asian sources. The frame story for the tales, that of the cuckolded Sultan Shaharyar who vows to marry a virgin each night and then kill her the next morning before she can betray him, only to be stayed when he marries the clever Scheherazade who for a thousand nights (almost three years for those of you keeping track at home) begins a tale but then does not finish it until the following night so the Sultan allows her to live so he can find out what happens next, has some elements in common with Beauty and the Beast and thus is a story I'm drawn to. The tales themselves are a very eclectic mix ranging the spectrum of comedy and drama, with many of them using frame devices of their own so in some cases you're getting a story within a story within a story. It seemed like something that would appeal to both the Beast and Belle as a before-bed read, and they say reading aloud to your kids is the best way to instill in them a lifelong love of reading and books. My parents certainly followed this philosophy, and I think it turned out pretty well._


	9. Chapter 9

_Disclaimer: I do not own Beauty and the Beast_

Belle couldn't believe she had lived at the castle for over a month already. Every day brought new things to learn and discover from both Jacques and the Beast. Jacques's lessons—which had begun to progress into ever-more advanced nuances of table manners and manners in general—could be tedious, but if Belle got too frustrated she could always count on the Beast to say something that made her feel better afterwards. He might share an anecdote about his own experiences learning etiquette as a boy, or agree that he himself didn't understand the reasons behind all the rules, or simply reassure her with casual confidence she'd master it all in time.

Her dreary existence with Gaston seemed eons away. It had been her life for as long as she could remember, and yet it seemed so far removed from her experiences now as to almost feel like someone else's life. That girl didn't believe she was even smart enough to read, let alone contemplate actually being allowed to learn so august a skill. That girl occasionally stole longing glances at a sunlit meadow out a cloudy window. This Belle had the entire grounds of a castle to wander in just as she pleased. That girl had no idea if she would spend the day hungry. This Belle had three square meals a day, and that made a surprising difference as well.

Her favorite pink dress hadn't fit right the last time she tried to put it on. The invisible servants had needed to let it out, and they'd also had to let the skirt down nearly an inch. Belle had found the changes slightly alarming, but Jacques had explained via her slate that she had actually been very small for a girl her age when she'd arrived, and now that she had to food to spare her body was growing to the size it should be.

The girl in the mirror was very different than the one she had beheld on her first night. Her face was no longer so gaunt and peaky; her cheeks were rosy, her pale skin bore a light tan and freckles stamped their way across her nose. Her posture was better and she stood with some confidence. She looked comfortable and relaxed in the well-made clothes she wore instead of expecting them to jump off her and crawl away on their own rather than grace a peasant girl. Most important, she looked like she was anticipating something exciting instead of scared of what the next day might bring.

Thus far there had not been another afternoon of listening to cases in the throne room, as much as Belle had been able to determine. She had checked most afternoons before either going outside or to her studies. No one had caught her checking, either; they seemed to have forgotten the gallery existed and that it was fairly easily accessible from Belle's room. She wanted to ask the Beast about it, but hadn't quite been able to pluck up the courage. She had known his ill temper the following morning had likely been related to the court cases, in particular that man getting so close to ruining the castle's carefully guarded secrets. If it was something that bothered him, she was reluctant to bring it up on purpose even though she desperately wanted to watch again.

It seemed the gatherings in the throne room did not happen often, since she hadn't seen signs of another. Perhaps few people had committed crimes serious enough to be brought before the prince in the last month. That had to be a good thing, even if it was a bit of a disappointment to her personally. She would just have to wait until she got another chance.

In the meantime, her reading and writing was steadily improving and she was thoroughly enjoying _One Thousand and One Nights_. The stories were sometimes serious, sometimes funny, and sometimes so confusing that even the Beast occasionally had trouble following them. But he seemed to be enjoying them just as much as she. They had to work together to sound out some of the exotic names of people and places, but that was fun too because sometimes they couldn't help laughing at how odd they sounded.

It felt good to laugh. The Beast had a chuckle that started deep down inside of him and Belle never tired of hearing it. Sometimes she fell asleep in the library listening to him but she always woke the next morning tucked into her own bed. She didn't know if it was the Beast or Jacques who carried her there but it didn't trouble her; either way she felt safe and taken care of.

She woke on a morning in late November to a day that was clear, but too cold to spend much time outside. The Beast seemed a little distracted at their morning lessons but Belle didn't think much of it. After lunch she worked on her assignments and finished fairly quickly.

She knew immediately upon entering the hallway with the gallery that there was a court in session. As before, she could hear the muffled sounds of voices.

A thrill of excitement went through her. At last! The day she had been waiting for had arrived and she'd be able to observe the court again.

Once again no one saw her slip into the upstairs gallery. Everyone below was too intent on either talking to each other or paying attention to what was going on at the front of the room. It was a smaller number of people overall this time, Belle noted as she crept to the front and settled herself in the same space as last time where she could see the Beast as well as those before him. It was also nice to see no one as big and strong as the man who had gotten so close to seeing behind the curtains last time. Hopefully there would be no such problems today and she could watch in peace.

It was just as interesting the second time around. A new set of people meant a completely new set of crimes. Nothing seemed to faze the Beast, however. Sometimes he was silent for awhile after he'd heard everyone's evidence, and from above Belle could see him thinking, his face shifting as he considered. She wondered how he'd learned to make these decisions, especially all alone, stuck inside that wall of curtains without being able to consult with Jacques or even ask for a drink to soothe his throat. She'd known for awhile the Beast was smart, as much as he loved books and learning, but this was a completely different kind of smarts that went beyond just knowing a lot of things. This required knowing a lot of things _and_ the best way to use that knowledge.

So enthralled was she that she must have leaned over the balcony a bit too far or moved the wrong way. Something attracted the Beast's attention, and he looked right up at her.

She could see his eyes widen. They stared at each other for a long moment, each trying to get over their shock. Then the Beast's eyes narrowed. From that alone, Belle was fairly certain he was displeased. Slowly she backed away from the balcony's edge until she could no longer see him, taking care to be as quiet as she could possibly be. She snuck back along the balcony, and though she knew he couldn't see her over the curtains she could still feel the Beast's piercing blue eyes boring into her back as long as she was in the room.

Once out in the hallway, she took a deep breath, trying to decide what to do next. She could find a secluded place to hide where no one would think to look for her, as one very powerful instinct was clamoring she do. But as big as this castle was, she couldn't hide forever. Someone, likely one of the invisible servants, would spot her and tell Jacques. She didn't really want to go to her room—again, that seemed to constitute hiding and eventually she'd have to come out and face him.

The gardens would have been a good possibility, but it was still far too cold. That left the library. Her steps leaden, Belle made her way there. She found one of the primers and started trying to work her way through the pages just for something to do. She couldn't really concentrate on it, and she knew she was just waiting for the Beast to finish with the court cases and come to find her. Her nerves jangled and fizzed, but she forced herself to stay on the couch by the fire and keep looking at the primer, even if she wasn't really seeing the pages.

It seemed as if she waited a long time. In reality, her inner sense of time told her it was probably around an hour, but it seemed an eternity before the library door opened and the Beast's hulking silhouette was framed there. Her heart did its best to thump its way from her chest.

Belle had thought she would be more frightened when he finally appeared, but even though she could tell from his posture he was very angry, the blind, shaking terror she was used to feeling when her father was coming after her was absent. Though her knees were knocking, she managed to get to her feet and stand straight, as Jacques was teaching her.

The Beast didn't speak until he was looming over her. Belle quivered harder, but she didn't fold.

"What did you think you doing up there, girl? Explain," the Beast growled.

Belle swallowed. "I was…I…I wanted to watch."

"What did you say?"

"I wanted to watch," she said, a little louder. "I heard it from the hallway last month and followed the sounds to that gallery. It was so interesting I wanted to see it again. No one saw me, I promise!"

The Beast drew back a pace. She could see some of his mane was fluffed out like an angry dog's. "You snuck in there to watch because you thought it was _interesting_?"

"Yes!"

"For goodness' sake, _why_?" Now he sounded baffled as well as angry.

"I don't know! It just is. I've never seen anything like it before. All the cases are so different, and you always seem to know just what to do…"

She saw immediately that she'd said the wrong thing. His bafflement vanished, as did the relative calm that had accompanied it. He was furious again. "That's beside the point! These are _criminal_ trials, girl. It's not some play for your entertainment. They're no place for a child like you."

"But—"

"You're forbidden from ever listening in on one again. If I catch you sneaking in a third time, there will be consequences."

"That's not fair!" Belle burst out. "I _loved_ watching! I was learning so much!"

"I said no."

"You won't even listen! How can you just—"

"I can. You will do what I say, Belle!"

Tears welled up in Belle's eyes. "You're not my father. But I thought you were different from him."

He reeled back as if she'd struck at him. His jaw worked a few times and he took a deep breath. "You're right. I'm not. But I am your Master."

Belle could almost see him waving an imaginary piece of paper at her, with his signature and Gaston's mark at the bottom. Reminding her that despite everything that had happened in the past month, no matter how much he had come to mean to her, technically he owned her. His paws were empty, but the point was made eloquently nonetheless. He was right; he _could_ make her do whatever he liked. She was less to him than a paid servant.

The tears she'd been struggling against began to fall down her cheeks in earnest. She couldn't suppress the sob that escaped her. She barely noticed his horrified look, all she could see was the fury on his face a from few seconds before. She dodged around him and fled, crying freely now. As at their first meeting, she ran blindly, though somehow her steps this time took her to her room. She flung herself on her bed and buried her face in a pillow to muffle her anguished, furious sobs.

-0-0-0-

The Beast didn't even have to look at Jacques to know the steward had heard every word. Jacques had followed him to the library as soon as the court sessions were over, baffled as to what had his master in such a temper. But there could be no doubts as soon as the Beast confronted Belle. Jacques had wisely stayed in the hallway out of sight, but there was no way he could not have overheard the entire exchange.

The expression on steward's his face hurt the Beast almost as much as Belle's choked sob before she ran from the room.

"I know," the Beast said miserably. "I shouldn't have said that. I might as well have told her I see her as nothing but a slave."

Jacques nodded. He picked up one of Belle's slates and chalk and wrote, _I understand you were angry, but I'm not sure you could have said anything crueler._

"I regret every word. But I just don't understand. Why would she _want_ to watch? What is it she finds so interesting? I _hate_ the court sessions. I hate being trapped in that tiny little box, and I never feel like I know enough to really do an adequate job. I'm hardly wise, I'm just a caged animal stuck with the mind of a man and a duty to rule."

 _Belle sees it differently. She wants so badly to learn everything she can, and she looks up to you. You should ask her why she finds these sessions so interesting, and actually listen to her this time instead of letting your own feelings about them color your perspective._

"I'll be lucky if she ever looks at me again. She's right, I'm not her father; I'm a far worse monster. She never expected anything but cruelty and indifference from him. I earned her trust and the first chance I get I destroy it in the worst way possible."

 _I'm not certain the situation is so unsalvageable,_ wrote Jacques after a moment of thought.

"What makes you say that?"

 _She does trust you, perhaps even more than she knows. We've both heard and seen enough to have strong suspicions about what her life with M. DuPont was like, and how she protected herself from him. Something different happened today._

The Beast's mind flipped back to the day weeks ago when Belle had sensed he was in a bad mood, even though his temper had not been with her. She had become mouselike in a matter of seconds, hardly daring to breathe lest she catch his attention. Today, she had known he was angry with her, but had faced him. She'd even talked back and tried to argue. The Belle he'd first met wouldn't have dared, would have been too afraid of what he might do to her.

 _She trusts you not to harm her physically_ , wrote Jacques as if reading his mind. _That at least is something._

The Beast supposed he had a point, though he still felt terrible. "What now? I have no idea how to fix this."

 _Let her calm down for a little while. You should, as well. Then I think you should go talk to her._

"And say what? What does one possibly say after being so cruel?"

Jacques pursed his lips. _I can't tell you what to say. This is a matter between you and her. I might suggest you start with an apology and see how things go from there. With luck, you'll know then how to make it right._

The Beast, reading, nodded slowly. His temper was finally cooling, leaving him even more ashamed than before of his thoughtless words.

Jacques erased his previous writings on the slate, then wrote, _Whatever you say, you must speak from the heart._

"Speak from the heart…" the Beast repeated, half to himself. "I'm not sure I know how to do that. But I'll do my best. I've never…" he paused. "I've never felt this way about anyone. A voice in my head that sounds like my mother's keeps asking why I care what an unimportant little peasant girl thinks of me. I'm a prince, by rights I can order her around just as I please. Once, especially before the curse, perhaps I would have and not thought twice. And yet, I do care. I thought…I think…she sees _me_ , Jacques. She looks right at me with those big eyes, and I feel like she can see past the fur and fangs. Crazy as it is, I feel that when she looks she sees…she sees a man. Not a Beast, not a prince, not a fool who has no idea what he's doing, just a man. Something I've never been able to do my entire life when I look in the mirror."

Jacques had been following all of this pseudo-speech, nodding along encouragingly. He smiled a little. _Trust that feeling, sire, and you'll manage._

He put down the slate and left the room, leaving the Beast to his thoughts. The Beast spent the next half hour or so wandering up and down the shelves of books, taking in their soothing scent and trying to calm his heart.

There was the possibility Belle would not forgive him. He wasn't sure what would happen then. He supposed he'd have to give her space to be by herself and see whether in time she might consider it, though he wouldn't blame her too much if she withheld. Her accusation of him being like her father stung.

At last his footsteps took him down the hall to Belle's room. He stood before the closed door for a long moment, took a deep breath and tapped his knuckles against the wood. A pause, and he thought he heard feet on the floor from within.

"Yes?" came her voice. It quavered just a little bit.

"Belle? It's me," said the Beast. "Can I come in, please?"

* * *

 _Author's Note: You guys didn't think it was going to be all sunshine and roses once Belle stopped being afraid of him, did you? Our pair are still learning and evolving and figuring out the shape of their relationship. There's going to be some bumps in the road._


	10. Chapter 10

_Disclaimer: I do not own Beauty and the Beast._

"Can I come in, please?"

Belle considered the Beast's question. He didn't sound angry anymore. Indeed, he sounded nervous and upset. She, however, still felt miserable. She'd eventually stopped crying, but had continued to lie motionless on her bed until hearing the tap at the door. She'd never cried so much since she'd first learned to silence her tears not long after her mother died.

She could tell him 'no,' and she knew he'd go away. He would never break down the door and demand that she face him. She knew this deep inside despite his earlier words about being her Master. It was that very fact that made her want to open the door and hear what he had to say.

So she swallowed back a sniffle and went to the door. Slowly she turned the handle and opened it up just a crack to peer out.

His face, already unhappy, fell even further when he saw her. "Oh Belle, I am so sorry."

At this, she swung the door further open to admit him. But he only came a pace or two into the room and shut the door behind him. They looked at each other for a moment, and Belle's residual anger with him began to melt.

"Belle, I came to…to apologize for what I said," he began. "I was angry and I wasn't thinking. I hope you know I see you as more than an indentured servant. I see you as…I don't know…I suppose the best word to describe it is 'friend.' It's more than that, but I can't seem to find a better word. I'm fairly new at having a friend, but I do know friends don't deliberately hurt each other. I know I hurt you, and I wanted to say I'm sorry for it."

Belle was taken aback. This wasn't at all what she'd expected him to say, though come to think of it she'd had no idea what she _had_ expected. But she felt prompted to respond in kind. "I'm s-sorry too," she said.

"What for?"

"It was mean of me to say you're like my father. It's not true at all—you're nothing like him. I was angry, too. I didn't mean it."

A smile lit up his face. "Thank you, Belle."

"I've never had a friend before. I guess you and Jacques are my first. But if friends don't deliberately hurt each other, then I promise I'll try not to hurt either of you from now on." A vague memory of her mother surfaced, one of her favorites and most comforting. Belle didn't stop to consider, she just stepped forward and put her arms around as much of the Beast as she could manage. She couldn't begin to reach all the way, but she did her best.

He froze in the act of pulling away. Belle clung harder, burying her face in his shirt. Very slowly, as if he weren't quite sure what to do, his arms came up and awkwardly around her. It occurred to her that as long as it had been since she had been embraced, it must be much longer ago for him. Maybe since he was the prince and his mother hadn't cared about him, he'd never been hugged before.

Slowly he pulled back and managed to crouch down more to her level. He took her hands in his huge paws and they looked at each other for a moment. He still seemed a little stunned at what she had done. This time Belle put her arms around his neck and he pulled her in close, so tight she could barely breathe. His warmth was like being beneath a thick blanket.

Eventually they pulled apart and he climbed back to his feet. Belle smiled shyly up at him.

"It's almost dinnertime," said the Beast. "Call one of the servants for some water to wash off your face, then come down to the dining room and we'll discuss why you want to watch the criminal court cases while we eat, like civilized people. I'll do my best to listen and not lose my temper again."

Belle nodded, and he swung around and left. Belle swiped surreptitiously at her cheeks, which were still hot and puffy from crying earlier. The Beast was right, cool water would feel good and help her feel ready to face dinner. Not only would she have to explain why she wanted to watch the courtroom, something she still wanted badly, but Jacques would also critique any lapses in manners he noticed tomorrow morning.

Jacques brought the water himself. He seemed to know everything already, which Belle wryly thought she should have expected. Nothing in the castle ever escaped Jacques's notice, or if it did he'd know within half an hour. He patted her head reassuringly.

 _New clothes will help as well,_ he wrote on her slate. _The ones you have on are wrinkled._ Belle cocked an eyebrow at the unfamiliar last word, but Jacques pleated her sleeve between his fingers to demonstrate and she realized what he meant. With the help of the invisible servants she was dressed in different clothes; slightly nicer ones, she noticed, than her everyday dresses, though still comfortable. Jacques was right, it did make a difference in her confidence.

When she was all ready, Jacques bowed her out of the room as if she were a real lady. Belle smirked at him as she went by. They made their way down to the dining room. Before opening the doors, Jacques hooked a finger gently under her chin, a silent encouragement to keep her head held high as he had been teaching her.

"I will," said Belle. "Thank you." She meant the water and the clothes, too, and hoped Jacques knew that. Jacques nodded, then opened the doors.

-0-0-0-

The Beast was a little surprised at the girl who came through the door. She had completely transformed. Her cheeks were a little pink and swollen, but that was all that was left of her tears. Jacques had dressed her in different clothes—of course he had, the steward thought of everything before he needed to be asked—and had her disordered hair brushed. She walked confidently with a straight back and even shoulders, and…was she taller? How had he missed that she was taller than when she'd first arrived? It wasn't just the difference in posture, he was sure as she approached. His tiny, half-starved waif had definitely grown, and though she was still small and delicately boned, she no longer looked like an errant breeze might blow her away. She looked like a happy, healthy child.

Jacques had been doing more work with her in their breakfast sessions than he'd realized. Belle actually managed a small curtsy before him, though she wobbled noticeably rising from it. She winced, and he made a mental note to remind Jacques after she went to bed to go easy on her the next morning. He held out an arm for her to take and led her to her seat. It felt odd, but almost refreshing, to be enacting these rituals of behavior again that had once been second nature but were long out of use since the curse.

For a peasant girl who likely had never imagined how wealthy aristocrats lived their lives until a month ago, Belle was taking to the entire scheme remarkably quickly. He'd heard her occasional complaints about Jacques's lessons and how nonsensical some of the things she was learning were to her, but the difference between now and when they'd first eaten together was downright astonishing. If things kept up at this rate, in a few years it might be difficult to tell she hadn't been born a lady. The Beast suppressed a smile. _That_ would certainly put a bee in the bonnet of those who claimed it was impossible to learn to truly act like a noble unless you had noble blood and were reared to it from the moment of birth.

He waited until they had both made decent headway into the meal before formally bringing up the subject on both of their minds.

"Belle, why _do_ you want to watch the court sessions? I'd have thought at the very least you'd find them deeply tedious. Surely you'd rather be out in the gardens or at your studies or something else more worth your time."

Belle shook her head vigorously. "No, I don't think they're boring at all. I mean, I like the gardens and my studies, but there's just something about the court that I find exciting. I never imagined how people who break the law might be dealt with, and this is so interesting. It's so orderly and…fair. I can't imagine how you decide what punishments are suitable and how you determine if someone's innocent, but I like to watch you work."

"Ah, Belle. It's hardly as fair as it should be. I'm one man. I studied for years to learn a fraction of what I use in court, and I still never feel as if I know enough to pass judgment on some of these cases. I do my best, but sometimes I just have to make the best decision I know how to make, knowing the outcome will make no one happy. The burden of it…it's terrible sometimes. I'd hate to have you exposed to that at such a young age, even though you're not the one making any decisions."

He watched Belle digest this, though he still wasn't sure she'd grasped the gravity of it all. "Belle, I'm having a hard time understanding why you find this something you want to see. I hate being in court; I'd rather do a thousand other things than spend an afternoon there. Yet you snuck in to watch, twice, and you tell me you want to go back again."

"I do," said Belle quietly. "And I understand why it must be terrible for you to be trapped in that box of curtains, with no way to even ask Jacques for advice. And to have to risk your secret every time. I was so afraid last time when that man ran towards you!"

"You saw that?" The Beast sighed. "Of course you did. Fortunately that kind of thing has been rare. We've had a few close calls like that one over the years but nothing's ever come of them. If I were human, I'd be better prepared to defend myself. Most noblemen carry swords of some kind if they want to make an impression on their subjects, and while they're largely ceremonial blades, in times like that they can come in handy as a last resort."

"I'm glad that doesn't happen too often. But you and Jacques were so brave!"

It was difficult not to feel a little proud with such admiration shining in her eyes. "I do it because I have to, Belle. That's what I'm trying to explain. I was born a prince; I have no choice. It's hard for me to understand why someone would want to be there willingly. But I can see that you do."

Belle nodded. "I hope you'll let me watch again. I promise I won't let anyone see me. No one ever looks up at the gallery."

"I'm less worried about that than I am about what _you_ might see or hear. You haven't seen the worst by far of what appears in the criminal court. You've seen a series of thieves, drunkards and scoundrels. Your life with your father prepared you for understanding that kind of darkness in men's hearts.

"You haven't seen the crimes of passion or sheer cruelty. You haven't seen a murder trial...or know of the dreadful things a man can do to a woman besides beat her. They don't happen often in my province, but they do happen, and eventually they're brought before me for judgment. These things are not for your ears." Belle opened her mouth, and he added, "At least until you're old enough to better understand, especially the things that go on between grown men and women. There are of course those who say a woman should be protected from any knowledge of sordid activities no matter how old she is because she is too delicate to bear it. You've already endured more in your short lifetime than people who say such things can imagine. But you are still young, and I want to protect what innocence you have left until you've seen and read about more of the world. There are some evils you don't need to know about until you're older. Indeed, there are some evils _I_ wish I didn't know about, and this coming from a man cursed to be a Beast for having no love in his heart.

"Do you understand what I'm trying to tell you?"

"I understand," said Belle, and he could see in her eyes that she did. She was disappointed, but resigned. But it also occurred to him a possible reason why she wanted so badly to watch. She'd had to endure a terrible existence with no recourse or means of escape. Perhaps she wanted to watch the court to reassure herself that justice and fairness did exist and could prevail. If that were the case, it might be important to allow her the opportunity, even if he wasn't overly fond of the idea. He thought for a few minutes while he finished the last bites of dinner. Belle patiently waited with a straight back and hands folded in her lap. At length, he hit on an idea.

"I'm prepared to agree to let you watch from the gallery on court days, _provided,"_ here he put extra emphasis on the word as she began to get excited, "you take your cues from either myself or Jacques. We'll have a signal, and if we use it then you leave at once, no questions, and you don't ask about the case later. Can you promise that?"

"Yes, yes! I promise! Thank you! Thank you so much!" She leapt up from her chair and flung herself at him. This time he was better prepared to receive her hug, though it was still an odd but pleasant sensation to feel arms around him again after all these years. He gave her a brief squeeze in return.

"You're welcome," he said. "Go on to bed now."

Belle skipped off. The Beast glared at Jacques, daring him to comment on the impropriety of jumping up to hug the prince at the dinner table. Jacques kept his face impassive. His lack of expression said _What hug?_

The Beast rose and went to stand with his steward near the door. "You were right, Jacques. I apologized, and she seems to have forgiven me easily."

Jacques pulled out one of his sheets of paper. _Not all your mistakes are so momentous as to result in a curse, sire._

The Beast snorted. "Very funny. That's hardly what I was worried about and you know it. She's been hurt so much…I hate to hurt her again, especially since, as you said earlier, she looks up to me. I want to set a good example."

 _You just did._

"By losing my temper? Hmph."

Jacques shook his head. _By calming down, apologizing and talking about the problem rationally once you both had cooler heads. You really listened to her this time, and she knew it. She was prepared to respect your decision had you said 'no' a second time._

"Perhaps I should have. I'm still not entirely happy with this decision, but…I think she needs this. I don't really understand why she's so eager, but I can't deny her the chance at something she wants this badly. Perhaps eventually she'll grow tired of it."

 _The novelty may wear off,_ Jacques agreed, bobbing his head back and forth as he considered it. _Or it may not. Still, I don't think having her there will be too detrimental. She's not exactly a sheltered, pampered thing, and if she thinks she can learn from the experience, I won't say her nay. She has seen a great deal of bad in her life, but at the same time she also hasn't seen much of the outside world. This interest of hers may well prepare her for the future in a way that keeps her feeling safe._

The Beast had known his steward too long not to guess when Jacques was leading up to something. He narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean by that?"

 _It occurred to me recently that since she is here for seven years, her presence may yet prove useful in ways we hadn't considered. You cannot be seen in public, and I cannot speak. If the curse remains in place, there may come a time when someone who can speak for you may be very valuable._

The Beast's first instinct was to protest, but it was fleeting. As always, Jacques made too much sense. They had to start thinking about what would happen if—when—the curse wasn't broken in time. They had managed for ten years, but it had always had the sense of being something temporary, something that would end eventually. If that wasn't the case…the Beast's stomach clenched at the thought, but since his last hope had backfired so spectacularly, he wasn't sure he could work up the nerve to try again before the crucial deadline arrived. The rose was wilting slowly, but it had lost more petals over the last month than he liked to count (twenty-three).

Which meant that Belle could indeed be useful as an emissary while she was indentured here. Jacques had done a remarkable job teaching her manners thus far and could continue to tutor her in matters of etiquette and proper behavior as long as she needed it, tailored for any specific situation that arose. He had no doubt Belle could learn anything required, and there was very little about those matters the steward did not know. He, the Beast, could continue instructing her in reading and writing and other intellectual skills she might need to be his representative. In that sense, Jacques was right. Belle watching the court could prove extremely useful in the future if she were ever called upon to conduct business on his behalf—she would be familiar with at least some of the rituals. There hadn't been a need thus far, but who knew what the future might hold?

"As always, you're ahead of me, Jacques," he said. "And it's an excellent idea. Do you think she'd be willing to help?"

 _Almost certainly. And we'll make sure she's as ready as she can be when the time comes._

The Beast nodded, his mind still working over the possibilities Jacques's idea presented as he made his way up to bed.

He hated thinking about the possibility of the curse not being lifted, but really, what choice did they have at this point? Jacques was being his usual practical self, thinking ahead to things before they became immediate problems. And the Beast was sure that Belle would do whatever she could to be helpful. Eventually her eagerness to learn just for learning's sake might wear off a bit—though if she turned out like him she'd never tire of it completely—and she'd want more of a purpose to work towards with her education. At the moment he'd continue to let her learn and experience new things purely for the joy of it. When he sensed she needed a bit of a boost, then he'd tell her of Jacques's plan.

Today had been full of a number of unexpected things. For some reason, the one his brain chose to replay for him in his dreams was the moment when Belle slid her arms around him and squeezed.

* * *

 _Author's Note: Jacques is so sneaky!_

 _Thanks to everyone who commented on the last chapter. It helped me clarify exactly how things were going to shake out in this one._


	11. Chapter 11

_Disclaimer: I do not own Beauty and the Beast._

Another two weeks passed relatively uneventfully. The weather grew colder and colder, and Belle was able to spent less time outside. In the absence of the gardens as an option for occupation, and since she still was not good enough at reading to manage more than the simplest books in the library on her own, at first she was at a loss about what to do. The Beast, Jacques and the servants were all busy in the afternoons for the most part making sure the castle and the province ran smoothly. There was no useful work she could do—as she'd noted from the beginning, the servants were all more than competent at keeping the castle immaculate, and they also tended Belle's clothes, room and Belle herself with beautiful efficiency. She didn't know any fancy embroidery, only basic stitches, and those were no use if there was nothing to darn.

On the second bitterly cold December day trapped indoors Belle found herself in the kitchen. At first, she had it in the back of her mind that it would at least be warm and perhaps she could find a corner where she wouldn't be in anyone's way. It was still mildly unnerving to watch things floating about on their own, but at least Belle had gotten used to it enough not to be startled if a spoon hurtled past her head.

She did find a corner by the fire where she could see everything going on in the room. Nearest her was a table where she could see the pastry chef working on some new creations. He—she knew it was a 'he' thanks to Jacques—had rolled out a whitish substance she was certain was not dough and was now busy cutting shapes out of it. As Belle watched, he put the shapes together, then continued to mold them until they had been formed into the petals of a single white rose.

Belle grinned with pleasure at seeing the beautiful thing and clapped quietly. The white rose floated over to her and Belle put out her cupped hands. Once it was deposited there, she felt a finger touch her lips, indicating she was to eat it.

"It's too pretty," said Belle. "Can I save it instead?"

The pastry chef picked up her slate and chalk, which she had with her as usual, and wrote _Meant to be eaten. It won't keep._

"Oh." Belle was proud that she'd known the meaning of every word. She nibbled carefully on a petal. Even though she'd watched him build it, the rose resembled the real thing closely enough that it felt odd eating it. The flavor was sweet and delicate. Belle methodically plucked each petal off, reversing what he'd just done to make it, and savored each one. "What is it?" she asked when she was done.

He wrote a word on her slate, but Belle didn't recognize it. She read over the letters a few times, then tried sounding it out. "M-marrr-zeee-pan. Mar-zipan. _Mar_ zipan? Are you sure that's a word?"

A squiggly horizontal line on her slate, the servants' code for a laugh. Then, _Yes. Want to see how it's made?_

"I'd love to!"

She spent the next several hours learning how to make, and then create simple forms, out of marzipan, which turned out to be a paste made from crushed almonds and honey. At dinner that night, she proudly showed off the results to the Beast. He shook his head with a chuckle.

"Sometimes I think there's nothing you can't do if you really want to, Belle."

Thus on particularly cold days Belle found herself getting lessons in cookery and general housekeeping from the invisible servants. They wouldn't let her do any of the really dirty or dangerous work, but they seemed happy to show her the inner workings of the household. She spent most of her time in the kitchen, where the servants taught her all sorts of tricks to make cooking easier, the use of spices she'd never heard of, and how to make foods pleasing to look at as well as delicious to eat.

Occasionally Jacques would allow her to accompany him while he made decisions only the steward could make about how things should be done, stored or arranged, once he had her reassurances that she wouldn't get in the way or try to interfere. He'd begun to adopt her use of a slate and chalk rather than paper, ink and pen to pass notes between himself and the servants, though sometimes they wrote and erased too fast for Belle to follow while peering around Jacques's elbow. Jacques would flare his nose in disgust at the white powder from the chalk on his sleeves, which made Belle giggle, but he admitted that using this method was more efficient than having to dip ink into quill. Jacques's ability to anticipate problems and efficiently solve them awed her as much as watching the Beast in court, though it wasn't anywhere near as riveting.

Somehow as December deepened it was mutually decided among the servants that there was to be some sort of celebration of the Christmas season. Belle at first wasn't really sure what that meant. Christmas to her was just another few hours in church, and then it was back home to work as usual. It was a busy time for Gaston since during the subsequent twelve days people often wanted to hire the tavern for parties and festivities, so he was frequently gone from dawn to past dusk for more than a week. That was what Belle had liked the most about Christmas—the surety of Gaston's absence.

Apparently in wealthy households, Christmas meant something entirely different. It wasn't a quiet time, the servants assured her, but the most busy of the year for them. At least, pre-curse that's how things had been. There would be visitors and grand balls and beautiful feasts with food pyramids so high you couldn't see straight across the table. Belle had trouble picturing this, enough that the servants built her a miniature pyramid with apples and sprigs of mint leaves so that she could get the idea. Jacques walked in on this scene, and Belle suspected the idea of having some sort of celebration of Christmas had had its birth in that moment. In any case, Jacques was certainly the mastermind and had taken the lead in persuading the Beast to agree. For some reason, he decided to use the argument that Belle needed to start practicing her formal manners while laced into an elegant, fashionable dress as early as possible. And what better excuse than Christmas? The Beast finally agreed, but Belle privately thought they were both going to feel very silly, since it would be just the two of them as always.

As a result of this development, Jacques had added dancing lessons to Belle's daily regimen. These took place in the evening after dinner. Belle had thought they would be horrible—she'd never even been allowed to participate in village dances, so she had no idea what the expectations might be for dances among the wealthy. The lessons turned out to be not too bad, though she liked them nowhere near as much as she liked her reading and writing lessons with the Beast or watching the court sessions. She wasn't overly fond of the various minuets—too many complicated steps to memorize—but the country dances were more fun and it wasn't too hard to pretend there was an entire line of people doing the same steps with her and Jacques. Since they tended to be lively dances, they were a good way to move about a bit since she couldn't go outside in the gardens and helped warm her up in the castle's winter chill.

A few times, the Beast came in to watch her dance lessons if he was finished with his paperwork a bit early, before they went off to continue reading _One Thousand and One Nights_ in the library.

The first time he did this, he watched for a few minutes quietly by the door. Belle was concentrating hard on a sequence of minuet steps, and suddenly he was right beside her. Belle jumped a little. "Ack! You scared me."

"Apologies," rumbled the Beast. He looked at Jacques, who stood with his hands on his hips. He pointed at Belle, then made a series of gestures at the Beast Belle took to mean _You're distracting her!_

"I'm not sure that's the right sequence of steps you just showed her," said the Beast.

Now Jacques scowled deeply. He shook his head.

"No, I think it's—" And here the Beast carefully minced his huge body, balancing precariously on his dog-shaped paws, through a slightly different sequence. Belle carefully backed out of the way.

Jacques shook his head again, but this time he seemed less certain. He and the Beast slowly went through each step, and when they got to the part in contention they both watched the other's feet closely. Jacques tilted his head in consideration, then stepped it out the Beast's way. He reluctantly nodded, then beckoned Belle over to show the new steps to her.

About twenty minutes later, it happened again. This time the Beast did not startle her when he interjected, but again he and Jacques went through a series of steps. This time Jacques won the argument. Belle hid a giggle behind her hand at the Beast's expression, but carefully turned her face away until she had control. She thought Jacques might have noticed her laughing—he narrowed his eyes suspiciously at her—but she was fairly sure the Beast did not.

From then on, this sequence played itself out fairly regularly every time the Beast came to watch her dance lessons. The Beast would frequently interrupt to quibble—a fun new-to-her word from _One Thousand and One Nights_ —with Jacques over the nuances of this step or that. Belle found it both funny and a little sad to watch. The Beast's huge body was just not built for human dance, but when he was absorbed in argument with the steward he seemed to forget to be embarrassed about it. He must have liked dancing once, Belle thought as she watched. Then she would get angry at the curse for making it impossible to do something he enjoyed, and unhappy all over again that she could not help him break it.

She was growing ever more fond of the Beast. Jacques and the servants, too, but there was a special place in her heart for the hulking monster who had once scared her so badly. She had never been so happy in her life before coming to live at the castle. She marveled at the girl who had been so afraid of leaving the cottage and all that was familiar—that girl had been too beaten down to imagine a better life.

Now every day was filled with new things to learn. She was working hard, but it was satisfying rather than monotonous. No one here would think of hurting her when she made mistakes. They just pointed out where she'd gone wrong and expected her to get it right the next time.

The Beast in particular seemed to like being around her. That was an entirely new experience, and one Belle still marveled at occasionally. She hadn't thought it was possible that she would be anything to anyone other than a nuisance. Yet here was this person with many other responsibilities and cares, who had every reason not even to acknowledge she walked the earth, and he not only spent time with her, but _made_ time even when he was busy to make sure he gave her lessons in the morning and read to her each and every night without fail. He'd called her his friend. It made her feel…worthwhile, like she could be someone who actually mattered.

She wanted to please him, to give him something that let him know how much she appreciated all he had done for her. But what could she possibly give him? He had everything he could ever want except his human form back, and of course she couldn't give him that. She couldn't make beautiful things like the servants. She certainly had no money or anything else to trade. The question surfaced at odd times in her head as the days passed, but she was never able to think of anything she could do to show him how much his friendship meant to her.

On an unusually warm winter afternoon in mid-December, she pulled on her heaviest cloak and went out into the gardens, something she hadn't been able to in several weeks. There was snow in patches here and there, though most of it had melted away from the paths. Belle stayed fairly close to the castle, wandering through the kitchen gardens with their neat bedrows. Most of the plants were dead and would be replanted come spring, but a few hardy herbs were tucked into protected corners here and there. She occasionally crushed a leaf or two between her fingers just for the pungent scents. She missed being able to smell the grass and flowers.

Belle rounded the corner of a low wall and found a surprise. She had never been in this section of the household gardens before. Built against the wall on the far side were wooden boxes about knee-high. Their tops were covered with precious glass to let in sunlight. Curious, Belle went over and knelt to examine one. Through the glass she could see dirt piled on the bottom of the box, and in the dirt were small green plants.

Heedless of its chilly touch on her skin, Belle pressed her nose against the glass. It fogged up immediately, making it hard to see clearly, but there were definitely plants growing in those boxes. They looked healthy, despite the cold.

How was this possible? Belle explored the boxes with her fingers, and discovered that the glass tops were set into wooden frames, which had hinges so that the whole top could swing up and allow someone to access the plants inside. Belle didn't quite dare to do that—she didn't want those poor plants to get cold. Instead, she got up and went back inside the castle.

A few questions in the kitchen produced one of the gardeners, the one who was in charge of the boxes. He could write, fortunately, though his letters with the chalk were a little shaky.

 _Hotboxes,_ he wrote, _so that we can keep the more tender plants going through the winter and start others a little early, before the last frost. We start them at different times so we will have fresh fruits and vegetables throughout the summer instead of one kind of thing all at once. Wealthier households even than this one have greenhouses, whole buildings made of glass to grow plants in the winter._

Belle laughed. "That's amazing! I've never heard of something like that." She tried to picture a whole building made of glass.

The gardener was ahead of her. On the slate, he erased his words and drew a picture of a house that looked like it was made out of squares. Belle could see how the pieces of glass would be put together to form a building and still be sturdy. "I'd like to see one one day. It must be very beautiful."

 _It is._

Belle looked at the air where she knew the gardener must be. She tried to smile, but she felt a little sad. Another victim of the curse she couldn't help. "How does it work?" she asked, to change the subject.

 _Warm sunlight goes in, heats up the air inside. Heated air can't get out. Same with the hotboxes through their glass lids._

"What's in the hotboxes now?"

 _A little of everything._

An idea struck her. "Does the Beast have a favorite food that you grow?"

There was a pause. _I'm not certain. Perhaps you should ask M. Saint-Yves._

It took Belle a few moments to realize he meant Jacques. At some point she'd learned the steward's last name, but she rarely heard it used since she and the Beast both used his given name.

"Yes, I'll ask him. But first can you show me more about how the hotboxes work? If you have time? I'd love to learn."

 _Of course, little mistress._

Belle wasn't sure what to make of that last. She didn't think he was serious in calling her 'mistress' as if she were equal to the Beast, their Master, but she also didn't think he was making fun of her. Then she felt a pat on the head, as Jacques sometimes did when he was in an affectionate mood. Apparently the other servants had been watching that. She smiled up at the invisible person. Her slate and chalk were given back to her, and a hand on her shoulder gently guided her out to the gardens.

She did ask Jacques the question after their dance lesson that evening. Jacques frowned in puzzlement.

 _Why do you want to know what the Master's favorite food is?_

"Oh, I wanted to see if I could grow it for him, maybe in one of the hotboxes if the gardeners would help me. I can't make him anything-the servants can make him whatever he wants only a thousand times better. But he's been so kind to me, better than my father ever was, and I want to do something for him to say thank you."

Jacques's expression was hard to read, for once. His eyes were faraway and his lips were slightly pursed. She could tell he was carefully considering her words. At last he focused back on her.

 _I may have an idea._ He beckoned her to follow him. He led her to one of the storage closets that she knew only he had the key to. There must be something really valuable here. Her curiosity piqued.

The steward rattled around for a few moments until he found what he wanted. When he turned to face her, he had a small jar in his hand, which he passed to her and took her slate.

 _These are saffron bulbs,_ he wrote. _They will grow into a small purple flower which yields one of the most rare spices in the world. They were given to the household years ago as a gift from the Spanish ambassador. The Master's father had done him some service and he owed a great favor. While he visited, he brought the cooks some of the spice and told them how to use it. The Master loved the food prepared with it. No one in all these years has dared to try to grow the bulbs._

"Would you let me try?" Belle ran a hand over the jar reverently.

 _We will have to see if we can find any book in the library that tells of them, to make certain we grow them correctly. I am sure M. d'Habille, the gardener in charge of the hotboxes, will be pleased to assist you._

Belle nodded after reading all of this slowly and making sure she'd understood. "I can do it in the afternoons when you and the Beast are busy, and then maybe you can help with the harder words. But…can you help me find the section on flowers, first?" She had learned as she ventured outside the classroom that the library was carefully organized, and that books had to be put back exactly where they had been found.

 _If we go right after our breakfast manners lessons, the Master will not see us._

"That sounds perfect." Belle skipped off to find the Beast so they could continue their journey through _One Thousand and One Nights_.

* * *

 _Author's Note: This chapter was tough to get any kind of steam going on. I had up to the previous chapter largely planned out, and I have the rising climax outlined in my head as well, but there was a gap between the two that I've now been straining a little to fill with anything meaningful. For help I turned to my usual partner in literary crime, Storyteller Knight, and she helped me idea bounce and workshop until I had something we both felt was viable. Anybody who tells you writing is a solo act is fooling themselves. There are times when you just get stuck and need a fresh pair of eyes._


	12. Chapter 12

_Disclaimer: I do not own Beauty and the Beast._

Even the Beast was beginning to feel the excitement in the days leading up to Christmas. They largely hadn't bothered to celebrate it in all the years of the curse. Before his mother's death, it had just been another excuse for her to pretend she didn't have a son and re-live what his father had termed her "youthful high spirits." She had been too busy planning and throwing party after party throughout the holiday season, with the most raucous of all coming on Twelfth Night. Many nights between December twenty-fifth and January sixth he had found himself locked in his room, complete with a guard outside the door, in case any of the drunken partygoers got truly out of hand. Christmas was a lonely time for him as a child, even amid all the hubbub.

He did have fond memories of Christmas balls from when he was a bit older, during the time he had often traveled with his father. Christmas revels in other nobles' homes had been entertaining diversions. The first year they were away from home for Christmas, he had been shocked to find himself having a good time.

So he understood all too well Belle's puzzlement over the fuss being made. There were times when he could tell she was enthusiastic about this aspect or that, especially when she was allowed to help cook or decorate, and times when she would watch all the activity with huge, uncertain eyes. She looked so lost in these moments that the Beast couldn't help going up and putting an arm around her shoulders. She would snuggle close to his side and he could hear her heartbeat slow to a more relaxed pace. In those moments, he felt they understood one another perfectly.

And then suddenly it was Christmas Eve, and the festivities started tomorrow. Belle seemed largely to have settled her mood into suppressed excitement and nervousness, enough that meant that by the end of the day she was exhausted from the sheer intensity of emotions. She fell asleep before the end of the evening's story in _One Thousand and One Nights_. She had done this before, but tonight she had nestled so close that when she did fall asleep, her head was in his lap.

A few wisps of her gleaming dark hair had fallen across her face. He could see them moving in and out as her slow, even breaths stirred them gently. He smiled. With as much care as he could manage with his claws, he smoothed the stray hairs back and tucked them behind her ear.

A feeling of warmth and peace like he'd never known settled into his chest. His affection for this one little girl beat within him like a second heart. He loved watching her learn and grow; he wanted to protect her in her vulnerable moments. She'd look up at him with admiration shining in her eyes, and he wanted so badly to be worthy of it.

There had been another court session since their argument about it, and knowing she was watching from above, to his surprise, was actually somewhat comforting instead of intimidating. He'd felt less restless and confined than he usually did. She was counting on his judgment to make the most fair decisions he possibly could, so he strove even harder to do his best. And it felt good to have someone else in the room besides Jacques who was on his side, so to speak. He felt her tacit moral support and it in turn helped him feel calmer and more grounded.

He adored her. In a very short time she'd stolen his heart completely. It wasn't the kind of romantic love needed to break the spell, but he had to admit it was a type of love nonetheless. The Beast occasionally wondered about DuPont, and how he had missed what a special treasure he had in his daughter. From remarks Belle had made, her father seemed to have dismissed her as worthless from the beginning simply because she'd been born a girl, and therefore unable to carry on the family name or inherit the tavern. He'd obviously had no intention of providing a dowry for her to marry when the time came, so he must have seen her merely as a mouth to feed that he couldn't be rid of and had treated her accordingly rather than as his own flesh and blood.

While the Beast as the son of royalty was well aware of the importance placed on having sons to inherit land and property, he also knew from his years presiding over court sessions that even among the peasantry parents generally did not treat their daughters as DuPont had done. They made an effort to provide for the families they had brought into the world. Most of the debtors' cases that came before him were of men attempting to do just that, regardless of whether their children were male or female. DuPont was completely in the wrong in viewing his daughter as mere chattel without value of her own. The Beast thought, stroking Belle's hair again, had he been her father he would have been proud to call Belle his daughter.

An idea occurred to him. His heart beat faster at the thought, but his rational mind firmly reined him in. He wasn't sure if it was even feasible; he would have to consult with Jacques and possibly a few books from the library as well. And of course he'd have to ask Belle if it was something she'd even consider. And if it was…

He pushed the thoughts aside as hard as he could, temporarily. There would be time tomorrow to look into it—the festivities didn't officially start until dinner. He couldn't allow himself to get too excited. After ten years of the curse, he'd become proficient in tamping down his hopes and dreams.

In the meantime, he had to get Belle in bed. Very carefully he eased her into his arms and stood up. She snuggled close, burying her nose into his shirt and making a small contented noise. He gave her a light squeeze and proceeded to her rooms, where he lay her down on her bed. His nose picked up a particular sharp tang and he glanced around. The servants had artfully decorated Belle's suite with pine, holly, and other hardy winter plants, obviously intending to surprise her by bringing the Christmas spirit even here. The scent of the pine in particular was so strong once he noticed it the Beast had to stifle a sneeze. Fortunately Belle was not so sensitive. She continued to sleep peacefully. Knowing the servants would take care of getting her dressed in nightclothes and tucked under the covers as soon as he departed, the Beast stroked her cheek one last time and left.

-0-0-0-

Belle awoke with the odd sensation that something important had happened while she slept and she had missed it. But that sensation was quickly banished the moment she took a deep breath through her nose. She sat up and threw back the curtains to admit the chilly winter light.

Garlands of pine had been draped over every available surface and even wound around the posts of her bed. Holly branches with bright red berries peaked out from remaining nocks and crannies until the entire room looked—and smelled—like an enchanted winter forest had started to grow there overnight. After weeks of barely being able to go outside, it looked like a paradise of dark green. Belle leapt out of bed and twirled a few times in the middle of the room, arms upraised and laughing joyously. The servants couldn't have planned a better or more welcome surprise.

When Jacques arrived with the breakfast tray she flung herself at him, crying "Thank you! Thank you!" Jacques grinned and patted her head in his typical gesture of affection for her. More carefully and going by feel she hugged the other servants as well.

"This is beautiful! I love it! Thank you so much," she said, practically singing the words. "It was such a nice surprise."

Jacques bowed deeply, pat her head and ushered her to breakfast. Most of the morning proceeded like the ones previous to it, with her reading and writing lessons from the Beast. Today she was practicing penmanship on real paper and had to concentrate extra hard on not making any mistakes. The Beast did not leave immediately as he usually did when her lessons were done and she had assignments from him to complete. Instead he strode off among the bookshelves. Clearly he had something specific in mind. Belle quickly forgot about him in her focus on her assignments and barely noticed when she heard the library door open and shut as he left.

Having to take great care with her penmanship, handling the quill and blotting the ink and so on meant her assignments took longer than they usually did. Belle had to come back after lunch to finish them all. It was about four o'clock when she was finally done, just about the time Jacques had set for her to begin dressing for dinner, so she had to hurry back to her rooms.

Jacques was not there, but the usual invisible servants who helped her dress were waiting. Belle hadn't seen the dress they were creating for the occasion, but they promised it would be spectacular (a new favorite word one of the servants had taught her just for this occasion) and that she would look stunning in it.

When the dress came out, Belle balked a little. She didn't think she'd ever worn yellow before. Certainly not in a shade that intense. The dress was beautiful; there were even little creamy pearls tucked here and there, but Belle couldn't take her eyes off the color.

"What is this color called?" she asked, stroking the silk with a reverent fingertip. Her fingers still had some rough calluses from her earlier life of hard work and she was afraid she'd damage the fabric.

 _Saffron_ , came the written response on her slate.

Belle blinked and looked up sharply. "Really? But I thought it was a spice?" Of course the servants knew about her project to grow saffron for the Beast, but she hadn't suspected they would add their own contribution.

 _It is also a dye. In this case the color is as close as we could come with the dyes we had—real saffron dye is far too precious. It would cost more than all of our years' salaries combined to dye this one dress with real saffron._

"Jacques said the flower is purple, not yellow."

A squiggly line for a laugh. _The dye, like the spice, comes from inside the flower rather than the petals. That is the yellow you see. We wanted you to have something to mark the occasion. As a thank you for coming and changing things here for the better. You've given us all a new purpose, in spite of the curse. We look forward to watching you grow and blossom into a young lady while you are with us. Today you take your first steps on that journey._

"Oh." Belle stroked the dress again. Her eyes blurred a little, and she blinked away the tears "Well, it's lovely. Thank you very much."

The servants helped her remove the dress she currently wore and laced her into the new one. She had been getting used to wearing stays—some of her less formal dresses required them—and as long as they weren't pulled so tight they pinched they weren't too uncomfortable. She'd never worn this many petticoats, however, and was afraid she'd trip on them, especially during the dancing later. But if this is what she had to wear to a formal event, then she'd just have to get used to it. The Beast and Jacques were counting on her to look her best.

Her hair seemed to take forever, though when she fidgeted the servants told her the style they were doing was very simple compared to the styles people wore every day at court. They weren't even powdering her hair white, just stiffening it with spicy-smelling pomade and styling it high in ringlets. They also put very little makeup on her compared to what they assured her were court styles, which consisted of white faces and exaggerated pink cheeks and lips. Belle only got a bit of powder to cover her freckles and some daubs of pink on cheeks and lips to highlight them a little.

The effect, when she was finally allowed to stand and look in the mirror, was indeed as spectacular as the servants had promised. Belle was willing to bet even Gaston would be hard-pressed to recognize the daughter he'd scorned in the girl she saw reflected back. She looked like a lady, like someone who belonged in these elegant clothes and in the world of this castle.

It was an interesting idea to think about belonging here, but Belle had no time to sit and muse on it. It was nearly time for dinner.

Jacques appeared to escort her downstairs. As on her first night in the castle, he twirled his finger, asking her to spin so he could look at her from all angles. Belle complied, slowly so as not to get caught in her petticoat hems. When she turned back around, he had one hand on his heart and an extremely proud expression on his face. He then patted his gloved hands together in applause.

"Thank you," said Belle, dipping a very slight curtsy to acknowledge the compliment. "The saffron dress is beautiful and an unexpected surprise. Please thank everyone for their hard work." She was pleased she'd managed to sound slightly more like the Beast's formal tones than her everyday choice of words. It sounded, to her ears, more how she imagined an educated lady would talk.

Jacques took one of her hands, bowed over it and kissed the back of it. Belle's forehead creased slightly, though she still kept smiling. That gesture, he'd told her, was one of deep respect. Like the gardener calling her 'little mistress' the other day, the meaning behind it confused her. Jacques did not give her the chance to ask him about it, however, because he quickly ushered her out the door with gestures indicating she was going to be late if they did not leave immediately.

Belle managed despite the slight rush not to slide on the floor or fall down the stairs in her heeled slippers. Fortunately dancing lessons had given her some practice in these and her calves likely wouldn't be burning by the end of the evening as they had when she first began to wear them.

She paused to take a deep breath before descending the final set of stairs onto the main floor. The Beast was to meet her at the bottom and formally escort her to dinner. From this moment on, she was to pretend she was at a party with a lot of well-dressed nobles and she and the Beast were just two more. All of her lessons were to be on display after she stepped out onto the stairs, and—at least as long as the evening went on—in her imagination, it wouldn't be just Jacques watching for mistakes.

Jacques noticed her hesitation. As he had the night she and the Beast had argued, he put a firm finger under her chin in silent encouragement to keep her head high and proud. She smiled up at him. He handed her a paper note from his pocket which he must have written beforehand. With his usual intuition, he'd known she'd be nervous.

 _You can do it. We believe in you._

He patted her pocket, which was tucked into the folds of her petticoat and could be reached through a small slit in her dress, indicating she should keep the note there. That way she could have the encouragement with her all evening long.

She couldn't hug Jacques at this moment for fear of messing up her dress, hair or makeup (or all three at once). "Thank you," she said instead, sinking into the deepest curtsey she could manage.

Jacques put a hand over his heart in salute and bowed. Then he made shooing motions with both hands. Belle turned and stepped out to the top of the stairs.

-0-0-0-

The Beast had thought he would feel foolish getting dressed up just for dinner with Belle. But oddly as Jacques helped him dress he only felt excited and nervous.

Tonight was the night. He was going to ask Belle a very important question, and he had no idea how she would respond. It was asking a lot of her. But the formal occasion, on Christmas night, seemed appropriate to at least see what she would say.

So he stood waiting in the grand foyer. It had been decided they would all pretend they were at a party with more people, in a somewhat desperate attempt to make the whole thing more enjoyable and less awkward. It would also serve as a benchmark on Belle's progress with her etiquette lessons.

His ears picked up her approach to the top of the stairs with Jacques. Both of their steps paused, just where they would be out of view of the main area. Suspecting Belle was nervous about this first 'test' of a sorts, the Beast did not turn around in order to allow her to gather herself. Only when he heard her heels doing a light 'trip-trip' sound down marble the stairs did he face her.

His first thought was to wonder where Belle had gone and who this stranger coming towards him was. With her brown hair piled up on her head and the elegance and sophistication of the dress, she looked like a different person than the one he saw every day. She'd also gotten taller, _again_ , and he had once again failed to notice. She had one hand on the balustrade, ostensibly for balance, but she handled the heavy dress with grace. Someday in the not-too-distant future she would be a match for any other noble girl. In fact she'd probably outshine many who were born noble through the sheer warmth of her spirit.

She looked like a sunbeam coming down the stairs in that yellow dress. When he said as much to her, she laughed, and she was immediately his familiar little Belle again. "You look very nice too," she said, indicating his blue velvet tailcoat with gold trim with a wave of her hand.

"Thank you for the compliment, my lady," he answered, though of course he didn't believe her. "Shall we go in?"

"Yes, please," said Belle. He offered and arm and she took it.

* * *

 _Author's Note: I actually initially called this piece 'Rose and Saffron' because of the color Belle's dress, and because the crocus flower it grows from is very fragile but yields something rare and precious. The addition of Belle actually trying to grow saffron came later in the writing process, it just happened to come first in the story. It's weird how things work out like that sometimes when piecing together a story._

 _Storyteller Knight says this is one of the meanest cliffhangers I've ever written and she's been reading my stuff for over a decade. Considering I've had cliffhangers in past stories where people are dying or in other such dire straights, this took me by surprise. Thoughts?_


	13. Chapter 13

_Disclaimer: I do not own Beauty and the Beast._

Dressed up in formal clothes like this, it was easier for Belle to imagine the Beast as a man. Not that she could guess what his face would look like, but she could better see him as the prince he should be. Someone—she suspected Jacques—had even attempted to tame his mane into a queue on the nape of his neck. While the overall effect couldn't be entirely refined given the Beast's animal shape with the fangs and the claws and all, it nevertheless diminished those things enough as to fade in importance.

"As human as you are," he'd said early in their acquaintance when she'd queried about his internal state. The truth of that statement had never been more clear.

He seemed nervous, which surprised her. She'd never sensed this mood before when they ate together. And it was she whose manners were on display to be judged, not his. Still, she thought he looked a little…twitchy, was the best way to describe it, for some inexplicable reason.

He settled down somewhat as dinner progressed, helped by his descent into his usual meditative state of careful, deliberate eating. Belle was concentrating too hard on her own manners to make much conversation. She did make some cursory remarks about the weather, as Jacques had suggested, and she and the Beast had a silent laugh with just their eyes over the absurdity.

The servants had outdone themselves not only decorating the dining room but also in preparing the meal. Even though she had watched and in some cases helped prepare the food, Belle was still amazed at how beautiful it all was and how carefully executed. Serving food in this way was an art all its own, one only someone like Jacques with a head for detail and years of practice could pull off. Course by course, it all came out absolutely perfect. Belle was glad she heeded Jacques's advice to make sure she did not eat too much so her stomach wouldn't be overly full for dancing.

When they had both set down their forks for the last time, the Beast cleared his throat. He looked nervous again "I have something I want to ask you."

"All right," said Belle, wondering what on earth he was going to ask. She sipped her tiny glass of watered wine just for something to do, and looked up at the Beast inquiringly. "What was it you wanted to ask?"

-0-0-0-

It was harder to speak the words than the Beast expected. He wasn't sure he'd ever wanted anything this much in his life, possibly not even to be human again.

"Belle…" he began. "Are you happy here?"

Belle looked at him with a quirked eyebrow. "Of course. Everyone here is so much kinder to me than Gaston ever was. It's been like a dream come true, except a dream I never dared to wish for in the first place. Is that what you wanted to ask me? If I'm happy?"

"Well…no. I know you're happy here. I can see it, and I'm…we're all happy that you're here. What I wanted to know is…if you'll consider staying. For good." This was coming out all wrong. Normally he was better spoken than this, but there was no help for it now.

Belle's face lit up and she set her glass down with a loud, unladylike clink. "For good? Really? You can do that? But I thought my indenture was for seven years?"

Her reaction warmed him. "It is. But it would nullify the contract if I made you my ward instead. As my ward, you would be my daughter in everything but name. Nothing would change, except that I wouldn't have to send you back to your father after seven years. You'd stay here. I'll provide for you, see to your education as a woman of quality, make certain you have a dowry so that you can marry well when the time comes. You couldn't inherit my lands or title, but then a daughter of my own blood wouldn't have been able to inherit—the laws says if I don't have a legitimate son, the province passes to a son of one of my father's sisters. My oldest aunt has four sons, so we certainly don't want for potential heirs.

"But we're getting off track. Would you like to stay here with me—with all of us—to look after you? I'm sure I don't have to say the servants would be delighted to see you stay for good. As would I. You've changed my life for the better; I daresay you've given me something to live for even if the curse is never lifted. Would you consider becoming my ward?"

Belle made a show of thinking hard, but there was a slight sparkle in her eyes. "If I say yes, can I call you Papa instead of Beast?" she asked.

Warmth swelled in his breast. The Beast couldn't suppress a huge grin, which he knew exposed all of his sharp teeth. Belle didn't flinch. She grinned back at him. "Of course you can," he said. "I'd be honored, since you've given me in return the privilege of calling you 'daughter.'" He stood, opened his arms and she ran into them. He could feel a few hot tears of hers land on his velvet jacket and he couldn't suppress one or two of his own. He stroked the back of her head as much as he was able without disturbing her hairstyle.

"Thank you," she said into his coat. "I do want to stay here as your ward, with all my heart."

"And I'm so incredibly happy you want to stay." They stood that way for awhile, she nestled in his arms. Eventually, however, the Beast took a breath and said, "Are you still up for dancing, my lady?"

Belle laughed shakily. "I think so."

-0-0-0-

Belle was still stunned, but she managed to put her arm in the Beast's when he offered it so that he could lead her to the ballroom. Normally when this happened people would move from the dining hall into the ballroom in order of rank, but of course there was only the two of them. Belle tried to imagine couples before and behind them and carefully paced her steps so as not to step on her own or anyone else's hem. The Beast, she noticed, was doing the same, while also being careful to moderate himself so that she could keep up with his longer strides.

Once in the ballroom, they positioned themselves for the opening minuet while the invisible musicians tuned their instruments. Again, with more people in attendance minuets would be performed in order of rank from the most important couple to the least. The Beast had complained that sometimes this process took hours at very large parties. Since there was no one else, the two of them would perform several minuets in a row by way of getting Belle more practice.

The first minuet tonight was one of the easiest, chosen to make sure they were both at ease before trying anything more difficult. Belle had done this one many times on her own in practice, with Jacques as her partner and with the Beast a few times as well. She almost tripped on her petticoats once or twice in the beginning but quickly figured out how to maneuver her feet so that that didn't happen, even on the polished marble floor. She was also so happy and excited it was hard to remember all of the steps and not just start spinning wildly around the room in joy. She kept control—barely—and blessed Jacques and the musicians for starting with something easy.

About three quarters of the way through the dance Belle was comfortable enough to shift her mental focus slightly from her own performance to the Beast. She could see from his expression he was watching her carefully and that he noticed the change in her attention. He smiled at her, and they both relaxed into the dance, and the several that followed.

After the minuets it was time for the country dances. Belle and the Beast refreshed themselves with cups of punch and tiny cakes before taking their places again. This time the music was lively and cheerful instead of sedate and regal. It suited and fed into her current mood of jubilation. Belle couldn't keep from laughing aloud as she and the Beast spun and clapped and stepped. The Beast never faltered even though some of the faster dance steps must have been awkward for his huge bulk. Like her, he seemed to have forgotten his monstrous shape for the moment and gotten lost in the music and the movement. Every time she looked at him and realized he was going to be her father a little bubble of happiness fizzed inside her.

Before she realized what had happened, they had reached the final dance. This one was not as lively and seemed almost a combination of a country dance and a minuet to the ear. She was able to slow down and just enjoy feeling so at ease with someone. They were supposed to end with the usual salute to your partner; a bow and curtsy, but instead the Beast picked Belle up and swung her around once in a big circle in the air. Belle knew her petticoats were exposed to the world, she knew also that Jacques would disapprove and neither she nor the Beast cared. She felt so safe and cared for in those massive arms.

-0-0-0-

"There is one obstacle to my becoming your guardian," the Beast admitted when they had both had time to breathe and collect new glasses of punch. "Monsieur DuPont has to agree."

Belle, who had until this moment been practically floating, visibly deflated, worry in her eyes. "I don't know if he will. Aren't you the prince? Can't you just declare me your ward?"

"Your father may have indentured you to me, but he still retains the legal right to you from the time the indenture ends at least until you turn eighteen and reach your majority, longer if you remain unmarried. I had to look it up in some of my old law books in the library. It's not much of a window of time, but it still gives him a say in what happens in your life until then. And since none of us can exactly go to his home and ask his permission, we're reduced to sending him the request via official messenger with the document to sign. This would all be easier if I could ask him to appear before me as the prince and we could talk face-to-face. Since that's impossible, this is the next best option."

"I don't think he can read," said Belle.

"Surely there are some in the village who he can ask read it to him," said the Beast. "I know there are several men there who are literate."

"I suppose," said Belle doubtfully. She still looked troubled.

"Don't worry," said the Beast. "I've learned to be cautious when saying this, but in this case I'm confident it will all work out. Who knows? Your father may simply agree so that he doesn't have to provide for you anymore. Or he may want more money, which if it will make him surrender any future claim on you I'll gladly pay. Then you can forget about him entirely if you wish."

Belle looked happier at this prospect. They finished their refreshments in silence, but they couldn't stop smiling.

Jacques came in when they put down their cups to see them off to bed. He had known, of course, what the Beast was going to ask, and while he seemed excited and happy as Belle chattered the news to him, the Beast thought he detected a very slight, fleeting, disappointment in the steward's manner. If the Beast hadn't been so familiar with reading Jacques's minutest body language and expressions after ten years of silence, he wouldn't have noticed, but he was certain of what he saw. Why such an emotion might manifest, the Beast had no idea. He knew Jacques and the other servants adored Belle as much as he himself did. Any of them would bend over backwards for her on a moment's notice at this point; they certainly did not want to see her handed back to DuPont's maltreatment in seven years. There should be nothing but joy in the prospect of Belle wanting to stay forever. What could possibly have prompted any sort of emotion like disappointment?

Whatever it was, Jacques kept it to himself and the Beast decided not to press him, at least not right away. Perhaps the steward would confide in him in his own in time. In the meantime, there were plans to be made on how exactly to broach the subject to Monsieur DuPont. Jacques was sure to have some pertinent ideas to add to that conversation.

But that could wait until tomorrow when everyone had had time to sleep and restore themselves. He knew how hard the servants had worked to bring this party about, and he and Belle were tired from all of the dancing. Just peeling Belle out of her dress and restoring her pomaded hair to its usual soft state was sure to take some time, and it was already late. Their usual reading of _One Thousand and One Nights_ could be postponed for this one evening.

Once back in the West Wing, it didn't take long for the Beast to change from his formal tailcoat and breeches into less restrictive clothing. Such things simply were not designed to fit a shape like his remotely well, even specifically tailored for his size and proportions as his clothes were. It felt much better to be back in his usual clothes. If there was one thing he did not miss about his old life as a prince with a rigid social agenda, it was the uncomfortable clothes for formal occasions.

And now it appeared that life, at least, was going to be behind him forever very soon. He couldn't help but glance at the rose, which was down to only two petals, one of which was clinging on for dear life. The tiniest breath of air would jar it loose and then there would be one petal between him and eternity in Beast form.

While he mourned for what his life could have been, longed as painfully as ever for his human shape, and felt absolutely terrible about the servants being stuck as they were for good when they had done nothing to deserve it, for the first time the prospect of life beyond the curse's deadline wasn't permanently bleak. Belle would still be here. Their little ray of sunshine. She knew what he looked like, the dreadful restrictions the curse placed on them all, and she didn't shy away from the idea of living with them for the rest of her life. She treated them all as human beings she respected and not monsters from a nightmare. And while she wouldn't always be a little girl, the prospect of watching her grow up into a woman promised that things would never settle into a dull routine as long as she was around. The weight of the curse, while still heavy, seemed when seen through this lens as though it might be bearable.

The Beast had trouble settling down enough to want to go to bed. He alternated between standing out on his balcony looking at the stars and staring against his will at the rose. There was a tension in the air he couldn't quite put a finger on, but attributed to waiting for that second-to-last petal to drop to the table and his excitement over Belle wanting to stay. Wanting to call him 'Papa.' The anticipation of hearing that word made the skin on his shoulders shiver a little.

Eventually he did sleep a little but woke up after a few hours. Finally, as the gray light of dawn began to reveal details of the landscape below, the Beast gave up, rose, and went downstairs. He'd look in on Belle—he just couldn't wait until after breakfast just to catch of glimpse of her sweet little face again—and then take an early breakfast straight from the kitchen. The first loaves of bread should be coming out of the oven. No other servants would be around except those in the kitchen. Even Jacques wasn't up and about this early, especially after a late night like the previous one, though he was likely awake preparing for the day in his own rooms. The Beast had the castle entire to himself for a little while in truth rather than just in perception. He found he rather enjoyed the quiet, if only for a few moments.

-0-0-0-

Belle was exhausted from sheer emotion by the time the pomade was washed from her hair. If getting it on had been tedious, getting it out was equally if not more so. She was almost asleep sitting up by the time the servants were finished. They had to steer her into her bedroom and into bed. She fell asleep almost before the covers were tucked up. She did feel one of them pat her cheek just before she drifted off and the idea that she was going to stay forever with these people who cared for her warmed her even more than the blankets did.

For some reason she woke much later feeling an odd combination of sleepy and wide awake. Something had disturbed her out of a sound and very contented slumber. She listened a moment, but heard nothing. She mentally shrugged and had just turned over to go back to sleep when something rattled in her sitting area, followed by a muffled grunt.

Someone was in her rooms in the middle of the night.

Belle tensed. She lay as still as she could possibly manage, her ears cocked to pick up any sound. Now that she was listening hard she could definitely hear slow, deliberate footfalls on the rugs. Whoever it was was making an effort to be quiet but not quite succeeding. They were coming nearer.

Belle lay in an agony of indecision. She really didn't want whoever was in her room to pull back the bed curtains and find her on the bed completely vulnerable, curled up tight like a frightened baby. But she also didn't want to alert them to her presence by moving or looking out from between the curtains.

Maybe it was the Beast, or one of the servants. Belle comforted herself briefly with this thought, that maybe someone had just come to check on her and didn't want to risk waking her by lighting any candles. The footfalls didn't match any she recognized, but maybe she was mistaken or it was someone she didn't know as well. Someone who would be awake when no one else was.

That thought brought her heart to her throat again. As the footfalls drew closer, she could stand it no longer. Moving with all of her carefully practiced skill at stealth, Belle slowly extricated herself from the blankets and moved with agonizing deliberation towards where she knew there was a gap in the curtains. She would just peep out with one eye and try to see who it was. If she was careful and lucky, perhaps they wouldn't notice.

She got up on her knees, put her face to the gap and pulled the curtains aside just a tiny little bit. Though it was still dark within the curtains, a tiny bit of gray was filtering through the window, enough to illuminate the room to an almost black-and-white quality where all the colors were muted to dull versions of themselves.

At first, Belle didn't see anything out of the ordinary. For a brief moment she wondered if she had been imagining things, but then she heard the footsteps and realized the person hadn't come around the corner of her bed yet and couldn't be seen through the tiny gap she'd made. She dared not move any more to get a better look.

A few more steps, and the person came into view. Belle leapt back with a gasp she could not suppress and began scrabbling towards the far side of the bed. Before she could make it the curtains were roughly thrown open and the silhouette stood lit from behind by the weak light from the window. Belle would know that figure anywhere, however.

It was Gaston.

* * *

 _Author's Note: Personally I think this is a much meaner cliffhanger than the last. But that's just me._

 _Thanks again to Storyteller Knight for helping me workshop this chapter. The original version was much choppier and had the focus in the wrong places. She advised me to think WWJWD (what would Joss Whedon do)? The rewrite has her stamp of approval._

 _If you caught the mention of Belle drinking wine early in the chapter and are concerned about a child drinking alcohol, in the 18th century everyone drank alcohol because it was often safer than drinking water._


	14. Chapter 14

_Disclaimer: I do not own Beauty and the Beast._

Belle couldn't help the whimper that escaped her lips. Her fingers felt the edge of her bed, but she didn't dare turn her back on Gaston even for a moment to try to open the curtains in order to clamber behind it and place the bed between herself and him.

He'd been drinking; that much was evident just from looking at the dullness of his eyes and the way he smelled. His hair was much longer than she'd last seen it and unkempt, his clothes unwashed. Belle almost felt a moment of pity; in her absence he obviously hadn't either learned to fend for himself or found someone else to care for him. Pity, but not guilt. He'd used her as an unpaid slave, punished her harshly for any mistakes, and she was not at all sorry to have escaped that life, not even if it meant he was marginally more comfortable.

"W-what are you doing here? _"_ she finally managed.

"I came to reclaim what's mine," he said. His voice wasn't slurring, so he was sober enough that he wouldn't be easy to evade. As if to prove it, he reached across the bed and tried to grab her arm. Belle only just managed to scramble out of the way while remaining on the bed.

"NO!" she said. This was like her worst nightmare come to life. "You indentured me to the prince over two months ago, remember? For seven whole years!"

He waved a hand, dismissive. "Doesn't matter. It's just a piece of paper. You're _my_ daughter, my flesh and blood. Blood's thicker than any ink. You belong to me. I got money out of the fool prince for you, but no matter what some scribble says, you're mine. And you're coming back with me now."

He made to grab her again, but Belle evaded him. This time she screamed, but she wasn't sure how far the scream would carry. Were any of the servants up at this hour? Would anyone hear her and come to her rescue? Could they help her if they did?

Her mind was frantically buzzing. The invisible servants, or for that matter the Beast, might not be able to help her without exposing their dangerous secret. Jacques could at least make a show of defending her since he had a human form, but he was no match for Gaston, especially a drunk Gaston. She'd hate to have her dear friend hurt on her account. She was trapped and virtually on her own, and Gaston was between her and the door. The window was two very tall floors up and anyway she knew she couldn't get it open before Gaston grabbed her.

No place to run and no place to hide, no one coming to rescue her. She certainly couldn't fight her way out. There was nothing left to do but talk and evade.

"I won't go with you," she declared, drawing herself up as proudly as she could despite her nightdress and being still kneeling on her disordered bed. She remembered Jacques's finger under her chin and the Beast's calm, commanding voice in court. "You're not my father. You've never treated me as a daughter, only as a piece of garbage to use until you could throw it away. You _sold_ me, legally in front of witnesses. I don't belong to you any more than I belong to the moon."

She wasn't fast enough to dodge the heavy slap to her cheek, which sent her spinning off the bed and onto the floor, tangled helplessly in the bedcurtains. While she tried to free herself, he strode around the bed to grab her up, curtains and all. They tore from their hangings with horrible snapping noises as he hoisted Belle bodily and carried her out of the room. Belle was so wrapped up between the curtains and his arms that she could not escape no matter how she struggled.

"Let me go! Let go of me!" she screamed. Her face was covered in cloth so her screams were muffled and she couldn't even use her teeth to bite as a last resort.

A horrible roar met them just as they were in the middle of the main room of her suite. Belle almost went limp with relief. Somehow, despite the early hour and the fact that he should have been asleep at the other end of the castle, the Beast had come to rescue her. He stood silhouetted in the doorway, the fur of his mane standing out, every gleaming tooth exposed in a snarl. At the shoulder he was still nearly as tall as a standing Gaston.

Gaston froze and gave a dismayed cry. Belle took the opportunity to squirm so hard that he dropped her to the floor. She scrabbled and wiggled away, still half-tangled in the curtains but determined to get out of reach before he recovered from the shock of seeing something so horrible that could not exist in nature.

She almost didn't make it. He realized what she was doing and grabbed for her, but she pulled her still-bound legs out of his reach. Gaston was prevented from trying again by the Beast stalking forward. On all fours, hair bristling and fangs bared, he was truly a terrible sight to behold. The human clothes he wore did nothing to soften the threat he presented. A short time ago Belle would have been at least a little nervous at seeing this, but even a very angry Beast scared her nowhere near as much as Gaston. She scooted well out of Gaston's range, closer to the Beast, and began disentangling herself from the curtains.

The Beast lowered himself as if to spring upon Gaston. "How dare you?" he rumbled.

Gaston went waxen and trembled visibly at hearing the monster speak. He actually crossed himself, something Belle had never seen him do outside of church.

"That won't help you now," snarled the Beast. "How dare you trespass in this castle and try to kidnap a member of the household?"  
At last Gaston found his voice, though it was strained. "K-kidnap? The girl belongs to me."

" _Liar_ ," the Beast growled.

Gaston flinched, but persisted, "She's my daughter."

"She's indentured to the prince," said the Beast. Belle glanced at him, and realized what he was doing. Of course he didn't want Gaston figuring out _he_ was the prince.

"What would _you_ know about it, creature?" Gaston sneered, finding some of his usual unshakable confidence. "What are you, some sort of demon spat from hell?"

"If I say yes, will you get out and never return?"

"Not without her!" Gaston said, pointing at Belle. "She is my property, cheated of me by the prince. I've come to bring her home where she belongs."

Belle thought the Beast was truly going to spring on Gaston in that moment, and she waited in paralyzed horror for a roar and a scream of pain. Even Gaston realized he'd gone too far. He cowered and ducked, protecting his face and neck with his arms. Belle had never seen him so vulnerable and frightened.

Instead of ripping his throat out like an animal, however, the Beast rose to his hind legs, came heavily forward and seized Gaston by the shirtfront. He shook him a few times, hard, like a dog might its prey. Gaston whimpered, "Let me go! Please! Please don't kill me! I'm begging you!"

Belle felt something inside of her release. The final remnants of the cold, angry crust around her heart melted away at last. Gaston, the thing she feared most in the world, had been reduced to this frightened, cowering, pathetic figure. No longer would he loom so larger than life as to suffocate her if ever she dared bring him to mind. She would always be able to see him like this in her memory. Like any other man, he could be made vulnerable by the right circumstances. She didn't know what to call this feeling welling up inside her. It wasn't triumph, joy, peace, or anything else she could put a name to. It was simply a loosening of a knot that had always bound her ever since she was old enough to fear the hulking shadow that was Gaston DuPont.

Once he was through shaking him, the Beast drew Gaston right up to his face, so that he got a good look at those sharp white fangs. "Listen well," he rumbled. "I could have killed you several times over just in the last few minutes for trespassing and threatening a member of this household. I _have_ killed you a thousand times in my mind already for your past treatment of this girl, the one you claim is your daughter. If you wish to remain alive, I would suggest you remove yourself from my sight immediately and never come to this castle, or bother this girl again. And you are to speak of this to no one, or the consequences will be more dire than you can imagine. She is to be dead to you, do you understand? _Do you understand?_ " he growled, shaking Gaston again when the man didn't answer quickly enough.

"Yes, yes!" squeaked Gaston. "I'll do anything, just let me go!"

"Then get. Out. Now." The Beast flung Gaston bodily towards the door. Gaston recovered remarkably quickly. He jumped up and scrambled out the door. He sent one last, poisonous look at Belle, but that was all he could do. She was well out of his reach, already making her way to the Beast's side.

The Beast turned to look at her. "Are you all right?"

"Y-yes." Belle gulped. She was starting to shake and feel like she might bawl, the aftermath of being so frightened. She did manage to whisper, "T-thank you," before she fell into his arms and really began to sob.

The Beast shushed her and made soothing sounds as he stroked her hair. And then…something happened. He made an odd noise, somewhere between a sound of surprise and a cry of pain, and stiffened. Then he let go of Belle, shoving her away as he swung at something behind him.

He missed whatever it was. Belle tumbled back from the force of his shove and just managed to catch herself before she cracked her head on the floor, still confused and a little dazed as to what was going on. The Beast's momentum carried his huge body around and to the floor. He fell with a crash facefirst, and Belle was able to see the cause of it all: a knife protruding from his back. Blood was already starting to ooze from around it, bright red against his pale linen shirt.

Belle screamed in horror. Before she thought about anything else, she scrambled to the Beast's side. "Beast! Beast!" she cried, trying to fling her arms around him. He moved and moaned in pain, so at least he was still alive. "Oh, Beast!" she wailed. "No!"

Something seized her arm in a vice grip. She cried out in pain and shock and looked up to see Gaston standing there. The look in his eyes was truly deranged. He was breathing heavily as if he'd just done an extraordinarily difficult feat. Belle's brain finally caught up and she realized the sequence of events that had led to this moment: Gaston must not have left the castle, but turned right around after only a minute or two, snuck up and stabbed the Beast in the back while he was off-guard.

This was all her fault. If the Beast hadn't been distracted soothing her, he would have known Gaston was creeping up behind him. And now he was going to die, because of her.

Numbness began to creep over her. She barely had the will to resist as Gaston yanked her to her feet. Her heels made a token effort to dig into the floor but her heart wasn't in it. All she could see was the knife hilt buried in her beloved Beast's back and the blood running from beneath it. Her fault. All her fault.

Gaston pulled her to the door, his grip on her arm not relaxing one iota. Belle suddenly found some will, though she still had to fight the numbness pulling her down. She strained and twisted, reaching back for the Beast, trying to keep him in view.

"Beast, please don't die!" she begged as she was pulled inexorably further away. "Please be all right!"

He moved his head to look at her. When he saw her being pulled away, he tried to get to his feet to come after them but could not heave his bulk from the floor. He collapsed, one arm reaching out towards her.

"Belle!" he called weakly after her.

The fingers of her free hand found the door frame. She locked them there and pulled hard, trying desperately not to let his body out of her sight. She thought both arms were going to be pulled from their sockets, but she held on, crying with effort. Gaston made an annoyed sound and for a moment the pressure released. Belle tried to get away, but the grip on her one arm did not slack. Gaston came around and pried her stubborn fingers one by one off the door frame. Belle screamed when he succeeded, and this time he gripped both her wrists in his one huge hand so that she could not grab on to anything else.

"No!" she wailed as she was dragged down the hall. "Beast! Beast!"

They were almost at the end of the corridor. Belle shoved her heels into the slippery marble floor and yanked with all her strength, buying a few more precious seconds against the sinking numbness of despair. "PAPA!" she screamed down the hall, hoping he could still hear her. "I love you! Don't die!"

"Belle!" she could still hear him faintly. "Be strong! …I love you…" At least that's what she thought she heard, fading away at the tail end.

Then she was pulled around the corner by a vicious yank. The numbness overtook her at last. Tears streaming silently down her cheeks, she ceased to fight and allowed herself to be led away. As soon as she relaxed, Gaston pulled her into a near-sprint that took them out of the castle in probably under a minute. Soon they had disappeared among the trees and the castle was lost to view behind them.

Not that Belle looked back to see it vanish behind the leaf cover. All she could see through her watery vision was that knife and the bright red blood.

* * *

 _Author's Note: You probably hate me right about now. I'd probably hate me._


	15. Chapter 15

_Disclaimer: I do not own Beauty and the Beast._

"...I love you," the Beast gasped. He had no idea if Belle could hear him, but he needed to get it out at last. He needed to at least say the words before he died.

He was letting her down. She needed him now more than ever, and he was powerless to even raise himself from the ground. He was leaving her in the hands of the man who had already broken her spirit once. He could only hope that she had learned enough of her own worth while she had been here to not be broken permanently now that she had been forced back into her own private nightmare. She had the strength within her if only she could tap into it, of that he was certain.

The curse would never be lifted now. The Enchantress had never said in all of her proclamations about wilting roses and finding love what would happen if he died before the time was up. The rose should be about to lose its last petal in the next day or so. Perhaps given the circumstances, Jacques and the servants might be given a reprieve. If that was the case, maybe his death might be a blessing in disguise and give them the second chance at life they deserved. There was nothing left for him to leave behind but that hope, that small prayer for them.

The door slammed open. The Beast felt, rather than really saw, one of the invisible servants take in the scene and dash off again for help. He didn't blame whoever it was for not trying to stop the bleeding. There was nothing anyone could do about the knife that had likely pierced his heart.

So many regrets, so much left undone. The Beast made one last vain effort to crawl towards the door. He couldn't even make his arms move anymore. His eyes drifted shut, and he knew nothing more.

-0-0-0-

Jacques had not quite finished dressing—his wig was still on its stand on the table and his jacket hung on its usual peg—when the door to his room crashed open. A note was shoved unceremoniously into his hand.

Jacques looked down, and barely made out the uneven, hurried scribble: _Master hurt. Belle's room. Belle gone._

The note fluttered to the floor and Jacques scrambled for the door, his jacket and wig forgotten. He sprinted through the corridors. Knowing the castle as well as he did, it only took him a minute or two to reach the hall where Belle's rooms where. As he approached the door, which stood hanging half-closed, it suddenly blasted open so hard it bounced off the wall with a crash, and stayed wide open. It was as if some great invisible force, like a rush of wind, had come from within, but it had made no sound.

Jacques slowed down involuntarily a foot or two from the door. He half-thought one of the invisible servants might have been leaving the room in a hurry and he didn't want to risk a collision. The rest of his brain, the part that had heard no footsteps, insisted that this was something far stranger.

As if to confirm it, a glow suddenly emanated from inside the room. It grew brighter and stronger until Jacques was forced to cover his eyes and back away from its sheer intensity. But Jacques was not to be kept from his Master by any light, no matter how powerful. One hand shielding his face, eyes closed, he felt his way along the wall until he found the opening for the door. Then he edged around the corner and into the room, still unable to see much of anything.

The glow dimmed at last, and he was able to cautiously open his eyes. From what he could make out, the room itself looked much as it usually did. In the center of the floor slumped a large, furry mass from which the glow was emanating. From the shape, Jacques determined that it was indeed the Master, but there was something odd about the body on the floor—other than, of course, the inescapable fact that it was glowing. It looked less like the body of an animal and more like an animal skin draped over top of a much smaller shape beneath it.

The glow gradually dimmed and eventually faded altogether. Jacques blinked the remaining dazzle away and shook his head slightly to clear it. He took one deep breath.

Something invisible seized his throat, hard. He tried to pull away but the force that grasped him was not so easily removed. Both his hands flew to his neck to try to feel what, or who, had him in such a tight grip but there was nothing there. He tore off his carefully tied cravat but it made no difference. He wheezed and gagged, trying to draw a breath. Then, abruptly…something…happened. When he thought about it later with the intent to describe the sensation as accurately as possible, Jacques decided it felt as though a knot was being undone in his throat, as if the tube that led between his mouth and lungs were a piece of string that had become tangled and somehow he hadn't noticed until someone fixed it for him.

He coughed painfully, and just as abruptly as he had been seized, he was released. He found himself on his hands and knees, his face not far from the floor. Gingerly he sat back on his heels and felt his throat. It felt exactly the same as it always did. He took a few cautious breaths, but nothing impeded them and there was no pain.

 _What was that?_ he wondered.

A sound like "Wha—?" came out of his mouth, without him really thinking about it.

He froze, eyes going wide. His hands went back around his throat. _Did I just—? Can I…?_ He swallowed nervously, feeling the muscles of his neck flex beneath his fingers. He tried again.

"I…I c-can…"

Yes, his throat was definitely vibrating; the sounds were issuing from his own mouth, in a way they hadn't done for ten years no matter how hard he tried. Jacques felt tears prick his eyes. An involuntary noise of joy, almost a laugh, escaped his lips.

At the sound, the body on the floor in front of him, which he'd almost forgotten about in his amazement, moved slightly. Jacques blinked, and abruptly came back to earth with a bump. He remembered why he'd come here in the first place. Belle was missing, and the Master was…well, that remained to be seen.

Jacques cautiously made his way forward, scooting on his knees and not caring a bit about his dignity. When he'd about halved the distance between himself and the figure on the floor, it moved again, with a bit more strength. A groan issued from it. Jacques paused, his eyes narrowing. The groan had been muffled in a way that sounded as though it came from under a blanket or heavy rug.

"M-M-Master?" he tried. He managed to get out a whole word this time. His voice sounded creaky from disuse and he could barely produce a sound louder than a whisper, but he could _talk_ again. And that meant…

He hardly dared think it.

The body on the floor heaved, and the furry pelt slid away as whatever had been concealed underneath it pushed it aside and struggled out from under its weight. Something, or rather some _one_ emerged blearily from beneath it, someone with smooth human skin. The man was dressed in simple clothes; a pale linen shirt and dark loose breeches. He was barefoot, his light reddish hair was long and untidy, and his eyes, which barely seemed able to focus on Jacques, were a familiar bright blue. The face had aged ten years since the steward had last seen it; there were deep crow's feet at the corners of the eyes that bespoke a decade of worry, sadness, and care. But he would have known it anywhere. It was a face he hadn't been sure he would ever see again but had always secretly hoped to do so.

" _Master_ ," whispered Jacques reverently. Now he was glad he was already kneeling. He wasn't sure his legs would support him at the moment.

"Jacques—" the Master croaked. Then Jacques could see realization start to dawn. The eyes suddenly snapped to an intense focus, banishing any lingering mental fog. Like him, the Master's hands went first to his throat. "Jacques, we're—you're—I'm—" he stammered. The voice was different, missing the deep bass of a big barrel chest. The prince next held his hands out in front of him and just stared in amazement at their smooth paleness. Then he ran his hands through his matted hair, feeling for horns. Finding none, he touched his face and then his chest.

"Jacques, I'm alive! I'm _human_ again," he finally said. Jacques refrained from pointing out he was stating the obvious. "It's really me! I'm—I'm back! And you…you can talk?"

"Yes," Jacques whispered with a nod. They stared at each other. Then, simultaneously, they flung open their arms and embraced, squeezing each other hard, once, before letting go.

"The curse is broken," the prince said, almost to himself, as if he needed to say it to make it true. Suddenly he grinned. "Jacques, you absolutely amazing, wonderful _bastard_. You knew, didn't you?"

"I…suspected," said Jacques. There, his first sentence accomplished. "Where's…Belle? What…happened?"

The prince's face fell like a bolt of lightning jumping from sky to ground in an instant. The eyes darkened and the brows snapped together. He struggled to stand and made for the door on shaky legs. "Belle!"

"Wait!" Jacques lunged up and grabbed at his wrist to make him slow down. The prince tried to shake him off, but he was too unsteady. His balance was severely thrown off by his new build and weight, as Jacques vaguely remembered had also happened when the curse was first cast. The prince staggered, and toppled to his hands and knees with a cry of frustration.

Jacques put a hand on his Master's arm. "Explain. What happened?"

"He took her. DuPont took her!"

"W-what? How—"

"I don't know how he got in or how he found her room. I had trouble sleeping, and was coming to check on her when I heard her scream. By the time I got here, he had her all trussed up in the bedcurtains and was carrying her out like a lamb to the slaughter. He seemed to think the prince—I'd—cheated him out of his daughter somehow and he was coming to take her back with him. I'm fairly certain he was drunk. I scared him badly enough that he dropped Belle. I almost—I almost—" He faltered and glanced at his hands, as if reassuring himself they were hands again and not paws. "I almost let the Beast have him, right there in front of Belle. But I managed to control it, and threw him out instead. I shouldn't have trusted that he would just leave!" He hit the floor with a fist. "But I was so worried about Belle and how badly frightened she was, I never noticed him sneaking up from behind—" His hands briefly explored his back, and as he shifted the cloth Jacques saw for the first time the long, neat slice in the shirt on the upper left hand side. There was no bloodstain, no evidence that it had been a knife, but Jacques could easily imagine what had happened.

"He dragged Belle away," the prince continued. "The last thing I remember was her screaming..." he swallowed, took a breath and finished, "her screaming 'Papa, I love you,' down the hall. And me trying to shout it back to her. I'm not sure if I succeeded. But…that must be what broke the curse. I never realized…I didn't think…I thought it had to be a woman's love, a romantic love, not the love of a daughter." He looked away.

"So did…we all. I suspected Belle could…break it, after she arrived…I hoped…but it was still only a suspicion. I thought…a vain one, after last night." He still couldn't do more than whisper, but sentences were coming back.

"So that's why…" the prince trailed off as he put a few more puzzle pieces together. Then he tried to stand again, with somewhat more success now that he wasn't rushing. "We have to go after them. We have to get her back."

Jacques stood with him. "I agree. But, we can't…not yet."

"What!?"

"We have to…do it right. We can't just…catch them on the road…as we are. Or we'll never be rid of him. He has…the advantage…if we do it that…way. And…we don't know how…much of a head start they have."

"It can't be more than an hour," said the prince.

"Perhaps, but we'll…never catch them, in this state." He looked pointedly at the prince's wobbly knees. "And what will we...do once we catch them? Take Belle from...him...by force?"

"But what if he hurts her? Or takes her away from the village before we can get there?"

A plan was forming in Jacques's head. "He won't harm her, at least not…seriously. She is…too valuable to him. Not if…he came…all this way, drunk, to fetch her back. And they're…on foot. Even if we take…our time to…prepare, we'll catch them long before…they can get back to the village and then be ready... to leave again."

"The carriage?" The prince asked, and Jacques nodded. The royal carriage hadn't been used since before the curse for obvious reasons. It had been gathering dust in the stables all this time. But now… The prince glanced at his hands again, and a smile played around his mouth. Jacques could tell they were now thinking along similar lines.

"How long do you think it will take to get ready?"

"It depends…on whether your other clothes have changed…to fit you...as you are…now." Jacques reflected privately it was so much easier and faster to have a conversation without having to wait for him to write his side down and the Master to read it. It was hard not to stop and just relish the difference. But Belle and the Master needed him to be at his absolute best if they were going to bring her home safely. He could soak in the joy of a simple conversation later.

"What if they haven't?"

"We'll…improvise. But…I think…we may be lucky. Those changed with you," he noted, gesturing at the clothing the prince wore. The prince glanced down, plucked at a sleeve, and acknowledged this was true. The shirt and breeches should have been enormous on him with a completely different fit had they still been designed for the Beast, but these fit his human frame perfectly. If not for the tear in the back, Jacques wouldn't have believed they were the same clothes the Beast had likely pulled on this morning.

For some reason, this caused them both to remember the animal skin that the prince had crawled out from under, the last remnants of the Beast. They glanced down, only to watch the skin dissolve into sparkling sand and blow away in a wind neither of them could feel. Jacques shuddered involuntarily as the last of it disappeared.

The prince shook his head as if literally flinging something out of his mind. "We don't have time to dwell on the whys and wherefores of it all. We have to save Belle. Come on."

He turned and made for the door, every step growing more sure as he readjusted to a body built for upright motion. Jacques followed at his heel, subtly ready to grab his elbow should he stumble. But the prince managed to make it to the door and open it without problems.

Out in the hall clustered several people. They had been in the process of examining either their own bodies or each others' in amazement, but they all looked up when the door opened. Their faces split into almost identical expressions of joy and relief.

"Master!" Like Jacques, their voices were barely above whispers, so even all of them speaking in unison didn't make much noise.

The other servants were all visible again.

Jacques beat the prince—barely—in the rush to fling his arms around his friends and try to hug them all simultaneously. Even though they had been with him the entire time, being the only visible one had been terribly isolating. He was willing to forget his position as head of the household just this once and just bask in the prospect of not being so alone anymore.

There wasn't much time for their rejoicing—that would have to wait. Quickly the staff sobered as the prince explained what had happened in Belle's room that morning. Jacques then took over, making sure everyone present knew what their orders were and how they could facilitate getting Belle back from Monsieur DuPont. They scattered to do their jobs and alert the rest of the household that things hadn't quite settled down yet despite the spell's banishment. Jacques and the prince headed to the West Wing to see what kind of state they would find the prince's wardrobe in. As they walked, Jacques noticed something and smiled to himself. He'd forgotten that even in human form the prince was a tall man with a decently broad build. He tended to take long strides that Jacques had trouble keeping pace with. A minor inconvenience the steward welcomed with open arms, if it meant they could have the household finally return to some semblance of normalcy.

The prince glanced over his shoulder at Jacques and slowed down a bit. His grin was almost cheeky despite the lines it brought out around his eyes, reminding Jacques of the coltish young man barely out of boyhood the prince had been when they first met. "Do you know," the prince said in a would-be-casual tone, "I think this is the first time I've ever seen you without your wig."

Jacques gasped, his hands going to his bald head. In all the excitement, he'd forgotten the absence of his wig entirely. He glared at the prince, who was doing his best to look innocent. "And it will be the last, of that I can assure you," Jacques said with a dignified sniff. "I shall remedy...the situation erelong. Now, come. Let's get you...dressed so we can go to...Mistress Belle's rescue. She needs us."

* * *

 _Author's Note: Usually at this point in a Beauty and the Beast retelling the story is just about over, but I've still got some fun planned! I've never been fond of the way most versions of Beauty and the Beast end, where the Beast changes back into a Prince and that's...it. We don't really get to see he's the same guy Beauty learned to love. So I try not to do that in my reworkings of the story; I try to show more of the 'afterward' beyond them dancing off into the sunset. In this case there's literally still a huge problem to solve._

 _The idea for the Beast's transformation in this chapter comes from an illustration for an old version of the original story that I've seen floating around the internet. In it, Beauty is seen helping the Prince emerge from an opening in the dead Beast's skin. It was also influenced by some of the stage productions I've seen where following some fog and lighting effects he flings off his cape and reveals he's human again. I dearly love the floating transformation from the Disney movie where we get to see the transmutation of his paws into hands and so on (and I've watched that sequence an unhealthy amount of times thanks youtube for feeding my addiction) but this time I felt I wanted to do something different and a little unexpected. I will be interested to see how they handle the sequence in the upcoming Disney live action version, because by now there have been a million variants on that floating, sparkling transformation in film (including other Disney movies; even Wreck-It Ralph has a take on it) and I'm curious if the new movie will stick with tradition or do something unexpected. Either one would be awesome by me so long as it looks cool and captures the power and wonder of that moment. The recent French live action remake has him floating in water, which was a pretty creative spin if a less dazzling one-for all its story and character problems, that movie cannot be faulted for its visuals._

 _The last several chapters' cliffhangers were nasty, but I hope this one isn't as bad and earns me some forgiveness._


	16. Chapter 16

_Disclaimer: I do not own Beauty and the Beast._

Belle lay curled in the loft, arms around her knees, too numb to even cry. Gaston had flung her in the cottage when they'd arrived, locked the door behind her, and gone off again somewhere. For awhile she'd just sat on the floor in a daze staring at nothing. Eventually she had climbed to her old bed in the loft, now covered with a fine layer of dust. Her white nightgown was covered in grayish patches but she could not bring herself to care.

She could have been lying there for five minutes or several hours and it did not make a difference to her one way or another. The Beast was dead. Gaston had stabbed him in the back. It was all her fault. The man she'd come to love as a father was gone, never coming back. With his death, all her hopes and dreams for a life as his ward—his daughter in every way that mattered—were gone as well. She was back to being on her own again, with the prospect of a life with Gaston stretching ominously before her.

No one was coming to rescue her.

For some reason, this thought disturbed her. It itched in her mind, tickling her when all she wanted to do was lie here forever and think of nothing until she died. But it would not allow her to just rest in peace. Instead, it kept presenting her with images of the heroes Scheherazade spoke of in _One Thousand and One Nights_. So many of those men and women had found themselves in situations just as bad as hers, and they'd been brave and bold and took daring risks. Scheherazade herself had found a way to keep herself and many other women alive by being clever—and a little bit sneaky.

She could do the same. She could do something—

 _No,_ protested the numb part of her mind. _The Beast is dead. What would be the point?_

 _But you're not the same Belle who lived day to day in this cottage for years and had no idea what wonderful things were outside of it,_ another part of her mind said. _You know there's more than these four walls and avoiding punishment. Eventually Gaston is going to come back and force you to work day in, day out until you drop. You won't survive that, knowing what else your life could be._

She had to get out. She had to do it now, before Gaston got his claws back into her heart and mind and convinced her she deserved no better than what he deigned to give her.

 _But—!_ Her mind presented her with an image of Gaston, drunk and angry, slapping her face for some minor infraction.

Belle set against that the Gaston she had seen in her rooms, the one cowering before the Beast. The Beast might be gone, but Gaston was not as invulnerable as she'd always believed. The Beast and Jacques had often praised her intelligence during her lessons; they had always expected her to use her brain accordingly. She could honor what they'd taught her and use her brain to get herself out of this predicament.

And then…she could make her way back to the castle somehow. Even without the Beast, Jacques would never turn her away. Jacques was good with making plans, and she knew he'd do everything he could to help her. She didn't understand all the ins and outs of her indenture contract, but he might. It might mean she would get sent far away, perhaps to work for one of the Beast's relatives he'd occasionally mentioned—he had human aunts and cousins out there somewhere. At this point, she couldn't bring herself to care. Anywhere was better than here.

First she had to escape. The door was locked, but she knew this cottage. She'd never bothered trying to look for other ways out besides the door before—where would she go?—but now she had a goal in mind.

The windows downstairs were a possibility. They weren't glass like the windows at the castle; only oiled cloth that let in light but kept the rain out. All she needed was something sharp.

Belle slid down the ladder and glanced about. The cottage was filthy and in complete upheaval after months of neglect. Nothing was where she'd left it, including her sewing basket that had a pair of small scissors. She began to sort through the trash piled up in the corner where she had last seen it, but had only been at it a minute or two when the key rattled in the lock. Belle jumped, then, because she had nowhere to hide, kept right on digging, hoping that if she looked busy Gaston wouldn't be too angry.

He came in and let someone else enter behind him. The second man Belle did not recognize, but he carried a large basket full of food which he set on the table.

"Thank you," said Gaston. "You can be sure of credit for whatever your heart desires at my tavern for the rest of the year in trade." He and the man shook hands. The man casually glanced over at Belle, but other than giving her a friendly smile he did not react. He must not know Belle wasn't supposed to be here.

Gaston let the man out, then turned to Belle. "I see you're already trying to make yourself useful. At least being with the prince didn't spoil you rotten. I was worried when I saw that fancy bedroom. But you can leave all of that; it doesn't matter. Pack up this stuff," he gestured at the food in the basket, "And make it ready for a journey. We leave within the hour."

"W-where are we going?" Belle managed.

"Away from here. And we're never coming back," was all he said, before he left again.

Belle's stomach clenched. So Gaston was planning to run away. He'd even cheated that poor man who had brought them the food, to promise credit at the tavern when Gaston would no longer be around to run it. Things must be pretty desperate if he was willing to leave his beloved tavern behind. Belle shuddered. No wonder he'd come to steal her way from the prince—she was the last item of any value he had to trade if he was giving up on the tavern. She had no illusions about him keeping her once they got on the road. He'd probably sell her again at the first opportunity.

She had to get away as soon as possible. There was no telling when there would be another chance. She began to dig through the trash more frantically, until at last her fingers located her sewing basket. The scissors were still tucked inside safe and sound in their leather case.

She went straight to the window at the back of the house and began to work, keeping an ear out for Gaston as she did. The oilcloth was thick and her tiny scissors did not want to cut it, but she managed in the end. The window was too high for her to climb out but that was easily solved with a chair from the table. Belle glanced around. She was still only wearing a nightdress, but there was nothing here with which she could replace it. At last she climbed up to the loft and grabbed a blanket that was more moth hole than cloth, but it was better than nothing. She tossed it out the window first. When there was no reaction from outside, she scrambled up on the chair and climbed out herself. The drop to the ground was jarring but the impact faded quickly. She wrapped herself in the blanket and started making her way cautiously around the house towards the woods in the direction she knew the castle was.

She hadn't made it very far when there was a commotion at the front of the house. Belle froze, then dove into the meager bushes that bordered the house as Gaston came storming out of his little shed to see what was going on. Fortunately he didn't see her. Belle knew she should use this distraction to get as far away as possible, but…that sounded like a _carriage_ out front, not the usual carts that people in the village owned. She frowned in puzzlement.

Curiosity getting the better of her, she crept through the bushes on her hands and knees until she could see the front of the house.

A carriage had indeed pulled up in the road before the house, along with several men riding horses as escort. Even Gaston seemed overawed; he had stopped about halfway between the house and the road and just stood there. A crowd from the village started to gather.

One of the riders hopped nimbly down from his horse and after handing the reins to one of his fellows, went and opened the carriage door for its occupants. Out first stepped Jacques, dressed as Belle had seen him in the court sessions. Belle wanted to burst out of the bushes and run to him, but Gaston was between them and she dared not risk him seizing her on the way by. If he was willing to stab the Beast in the back, who knew what other cruelties he might be capable of in his desperation?

The second person out of the carriage was a man Belle did not recognize. He was a tall man, nearly as tall as Gaston and about the same age, but trim rather than rippling with muscle. He had reddish hair pulled back neatly at the nape of his neck, framing a handsome, proud face that looked a little stern rather than particularly open or friendly. Belle found herself trying to read his expression even though she was sure she had never seen him before. She thought he looked…anxious, though how she knew that she couldn't say.

The longer she studied him, the more familiar he seemed, but she could not figure out where she might know him from. He certainly didn't live in the village. His clothes alone bespoke someone with a lot of money—she was fairly certain even from this distance his blue jacket was velvet, and the braid on it real gold. Seeing such material might have overwhelmed her had she not being used to seeing—and even occasionally wearing—things just as fine at the castle.

Who was this man, and why was Jacques with him? Who were all of these other people who had accompanied them? They were dressed nearly as nicely as Jacques, but Belle could see with some surprise they were armed. Even the driver had a pistol on his belt, and the men still on their horses bore long rifles like Gaston's prized hunting piece. The tall man in velvet wore a sword strapped to his waist. Something about that tickled at Belle's memory, something to do with the court, but she couldn't place it. Her mind was too focused on who these people might be.

Jacques banged the butt of a long staff that he had brought with him from the carriage on the ground. Belle noted he'd managed with his usual knack for knowing exactly what to do that he banged it on a flat rock in the road so that it made an impressive noise. The gathered crowd immediately fell silent.

Belle had to cover her own mouth to keep from crying out in shock when Jacques began to speak. "His Highness Prince Louis-Michel Maurice François de Bourbon has come to accuse Monsieur Gaston DuPont of breaking the indenture agreement between them contracted on the eighth day of October of this year by removing Mademoiselle Belle DuPont from his household this morning by force. She is considered the lawful property of His Highness the prince and Monsieur DuPont forfeited all rights to her for seven years' time until his debt was paid off. What say you to these charges, Monsieur DuPont?" His voice sounded hoarse by the end of this, but it had carried loud and clear over the heads of the assembled villagers. They looked at one another in astonishment.

Gaston drew himself up and puffed out his chest. "I say the girl belongs to me, no matter what some piece of paper says."

There was angry muttering from the crowd at this and several men stepped forward. Belle recognized them from the day they had come to the cottage to take her to the castle. "That's a lie, Gaston!" one of them bellowed. "We were paid the money you got for indenturing the girl out. You agreed to it in front of us all!"

Jacques unfurled a roll of paper and waved it at Gaston. "Is this not your mark?" He pointed to a spot near the bottom.

"I didn't make it willingly," Gaston said. "They," he gestured at the men, "threatened my life if I didn't sign!"

This seemed almost ridiculously desperate to Belle, and apparently the villagers thought so too. The angry muttering grew louder.

The tall man raised a hand slightly and the crowd subsided. When he spoke, his commanding voice was pitched more quietly than Jacques's but carried just as far. It was a light, pleasant voice somewhat at odds with his stern face, and something about it was as inexplicably familiar as his appearance. "There is an easy way to settle this." He gestured to the man who had opened the carriage door. "See if the girl is in the cottage. If she is there, then Monsieur DuPont has violated the terms of his agreement and is forfeit to arrest."

The man obeyed, wisely, in Belle's experienced opinion, giving Gaston a wide berth. She knew she should show herself but the thought of all of these people looking at her frightened her almost as badly as Gaston, who was still closer to her than the safety potentially afforded by the strange-but-familiar men by the carriage. So she remained on her hands and knees in the bushes, trembling.

The man reemerged. "There's no one here, sire!"

"You see?" said Gaston, gaining the brass to sneer at Jacques and the tall man. If he was surprised at her absence, he somehow kept it to himself. Perhaps he assumed she was hiding—not an entirely incorrect guess on his part. "I haven't violated anything."

"But it does appear as if he were packing to go somewhere," the man who had gone into the house added.

"Going somewhere?" the tall man said, turning a mild gaze on Gaston. "You weren't thinking of fleeing the district were you, Monsieur?"

"The girl was there not an hour ago, your Highness!" came another voice from the back of the crowd. The man who had brought the basket of food pushed his way to the front and made a rough bow. "I saw her with my own eyes. The food in there is mine; I gave it to Monsieur Gaston on promise of credit at his tavern." He glared at Gaston, obviously well aware now that Gaston had planned to run out on this bargain.

"I think this is enough evidence," said the tall man. His voice had hardened, and there was no trace of pleasantry in it now. "Arrest him." He gestured at Gaston. The big man lunged forward, obviously bent on harm and his reason having completely deserted him. Everyone in the carriage's party went for their weapons and in seconds they were all pointed directly at Gaston. The click of the hammers being cocked back and ready to fire caused him to freeze dead in his tracks.

Belle choked back a gasp. This scene was ingrained in her memory—she'd seen one nearly identical to it in the courtroom. Jacques had been positioned just as he was now, between the attacker and—and—

Belle's gaze darted to the tall man. He had a hand on his sword and had partially drawn it out. When he saw Gaston was not going to keep coming he relaxed and sheathed it again. But he did not take his eyes off the bigger man for an instant until Gaston's legs and wrists were safely in chains.

"Gaston DuPont," he said, and again his voice carried over the last of the crowd's stirrings after the commotion. Belle shivered on hearing it. She was sure now that she knew that voice. "By your actions you have forfeited any right to leniency from me. The wrongs you have committed this day are more grievous than you will possibly ever know. I hereby sentence you to be sold and shipped to the Caribbean. The plantations there can likely use a man of your stature. Should you ever return here, your life will be forfeit and you face execution." Here he stepped around Jacques and walked forward until he was within a foot of Gaston. They locked eyes, and Gaston immediately gasped in horror and lunged away as if he'd been stung by something. He opened his mouth, and one of the quick-thinking men from the entourage shoved a cloth gag between his teeth.

"Get him out of my sight," snarled the tall man. He spared one last glare, which made Gaston whimper even through the gag, before turning to the villagers, who were still whispering to each other. "If anyone sees or finds the girl, please bring her back to the castle," he said. More quietly but still audible, he added, "We want her home."

Belle barely registered the villagers' surprise at this heartfelt-sounding statement before they began turning to go back to their homes. She found tears dripping from her eyes with no memory of how long she'd been crying.

The tall man stayed in place, looking after the retreating villagers' backs. He did not even bother to watch as Gaston's bonds were tied to the saddle of one of the riders' horses in such a way that he could walk behind but could not resist without being dragged. The man on foot remounted and the riders set off with their prisoner. They did not head towards the castle, so Belle assumed they were headed for the town gaol.

Only once Gaston and his escort were gone did the tall man turn back around. His eyes swept the landscape as he turned. Belle held her breath as his head came around in her direction.

Somehow he found her hiding place in the bushes. He paused, and their eyes locked. Even with the distance between the house and the road she could see that his eyes were blue. She knew those eyes, in a different face. Any trace of sternness vanished as he smiled an enormous, relieved smile.

"Papa," Belle whispered. And she was up and running in a rasp of branches. At some point she lost the old blanket that had been around her shoulders but she did not care who saw her now. "Papa! Papa!" she called, her voice growing louder each time she said it.

"Belle!" he shouted, and came racing up from the road to meet her. "Belle, you're all right!"

He swept her up in his arms and spun her around in the air, just as he had the previous night at the end of their dancing. If she'd had any lingering doubts that this was the Beast, somehow back in his human form, they were banished now. He wasn't dead; and as a prince he'd been able to confront Gaston in a way he couldn't have as the Beast.

Unfortunately he lost his balance in spinning her and they both toppled to the grass. Belle gave a small shriek, half of surprise and half of pure joy. She scrambled up and flung herself at him, hugging his prone form. His arms wrapped around her and squeezed her tight. The same sensation of being enveloped that she had felt when he hugged her as a Beast washed over her; that hadn't changed at all. She buried her nose in his velvet coat and either laughed or cried into it. She wasn't sure which.

"You're alive," she murmured, pulling away enough to allow him to sit up. "I don't believe it! You're human again. How did it happen?"

"You," he said. He tucked a lock of hair behind her ear.

"What?"

"What the Master is trying to say," said Jacques, coming up beside them and leaning casually on his staff, "is that the two of you fulfilled the requirements of curse. He learned to love you, and earned your love in return before the last petal of the rose fell." His voice still sounded scratchy, and now that he was not trying to speak before a crowd it had fallen to just above a whisper.

"But I thought—"

"So did I," said the prince. "Jacques's theory is that that's what allowed it to happen at all—we weren't expecting it, weren't trying to conjure up some emotion for each other from nothing for the sake of breaking the curse—so the connection between us developed genuinely. The curse was worded in such a way that it didn't have to be romantic love, as we thought it did. A love between a father and a daughter would work just as well. We only had to say the words and mean them with all our hearts, just in time to save my life, as it turns out. Jacques, clever devil that he is, figured it out awhile ago but he didn't say anything because he wasn't entirely certain it would work and he didn't want to raise any hopes or expectations."

"You give me too much credit, Master," Jacques said, but he smiled anyway. Belle could easily believe he _had_ figured it out weeks ago and kept it to himself.

"I'm glad you have your voice back," she said, and clambering to her feet she hugged him as well.

He patted her on the head. "Thank you, dear child."

He offered a hand to the prince and helped heave him upright. The prince wobbled a little once Jacques let go but managed to steady himself. "I'm having trouble with balance," he explained to Belle with a tentative smile. "The size difference is very disconcerting. Hopefully I'll get the hang of this business of being a man again in a few days."

"Come," Jacques said, ushering them towards the carriage. "We can continue this conversation on the way back to the castle. The girl will catch her death in that nightdress."

Belle had hardly noticed the cold until this moment, but as soon as the steward said something she began to shiver.

The prince removed his heavy velvet jacket and draped it around her shoulders. He was so tall that it fell most of the way down her calves, which was fine with her. It practically radiated from his body heat.

"You're right. Let's go home," he said.

* * *

 _Author's Note: Not a cliffhanger, for the first time in several chapters. You're welcome._

 _I think it should take one more chapter to wrap things up. This story turned out to be fairly short as novel-length fanfictions go, in part because I didn't spend a lot of time setting things up at the beginning. I just jumped into the part where Belle and the Beast are thrown together and their relationship develops (which constitutes the second half of the movie, the entire first half is spent on establishing the characters and setting)._


	17. Chapter 17

_Disclaimer: I do not own Beauty and the Beast._

"Belle," said the prince when they were well on the road to the castle. "How did you end up in the bushes?"

"Oh." Belle felt a flush of embarrassment creep onto her face. "I was trying to escape."

Both the prince and Jacques blinked at her. "Escape?" Jacques repeated.

"I used my old pair of scissors on one of the back windows," Belle elaborated. "I cut out the oilcloth and then jumped out. I was…I was hoping I could make it back to the castle. I thought maybe Jacques would be able to help me. But almost as soon as I got outside the house, you turned up."

"Fortuitous timing indeed," said Jacques.

Belle shrugged, embarrassed. "I was thinking of what the people in _One Thousand and One Nights_ would do. Sinbad had all kinds of terrible things happen to him, but he always found a way out."

"I don't think I've ever been more proud of you," said the prince after a short pause.

"Really?" asked Belle. She drew his jacket more closely in around her as warmth spread out from her chest right down to her fingers and toes.

"Really. When Gaston took you…I was so afraid of what he would do to you. Afraid of the physical harm he could cause, of course, but also that he might turn you back into the timid little girl I first met, the one who worried she wasn't smart enough to learn to read. You are so strong to have survived living most of your life with him, but I feared you wouldn't be able to tap into that strength once he'd apparently killed me and forcibly taken you from the castle where you felt safe. I'm glad to know that you pulled yourself out of that dark hole and Jacques and I arrived only to speed things along."

"I think…I think I stopped being afraid of him in that way when I saw how scared he was of you…of the Beast. I used to think he wasn't afraid of anything, that he always knew exactly what to do to get his way, but seeing him like that changed something. I knew then that he wasn't as in control as he always acted."

"You amaze me, Belle." The prince slipped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. Belle snuggled up, and they road that way for awhile.

As they were getting near the castle, the prince drew back and looked at her seriously. "Before we get home, Belle, I did want to take a few minutes to apologize to you."

"What for?"

"For using your indenture paper to get you back from Gaston. We had to call you my property in front of the entire village. I was worried that you might be upset."

"Oh. That." Belle shrugged. "I was trying so hard to figure out who you were I barely noticed. It didn't upset me at all."

He brightened. "Then we'll tear it up and write up the formal contract declaring you my ward the moment we get back. With your father in prison and about to be shipped out of the country, we no longer require his permission to do it. In fact, it appears you need a guardian rather badly. If you still wish to become my ward, that is?"

"Of course! I mean…" Belle straightened her posture, folded her hands in her lap and put her feet flat on the floor as Jacques had taught her. In her most formal voice while still remaining earnest she said, "I would like nothing more, your highness." She snuck a glance at Jacques, who nodded.

The prince grinned at her, and while his face was completely different than the one with fur and fangs that she'd grown used to, the way it moved was still largely the same. She could still read his expressions as someone she knew well and not those of a complete stranger.

"Save the formality for when there are other people around," he said. "There will be plenty of times in the future when we'll have to watch every word. I like the idea of still occasionally being able to speak like a normal person and not a prince, if that's all right."

Jacques opened his mouth as if to say something, possibly to object, and then closed it again.

"Oh, come now Jacques, I'm including you in this as well. You must admit it will be difficult to _stop_ being informal between the two of us in private. We've been used to it for ten years. And I'd hate to lose you as someone I can really talk to." Belle detected a note of real pleading in the prince's voice.

Jacques apparently noticed as well. He smiled a little and said, "Yes, Master."

"Good."

-0-0-0-

Belle was startled to find the castle bustling with activity when they arrived. She was so used to the entire place appearing to be lifeless, it was strange to see the courtyard full of people. And they all seemed to be waiting expectantly for the carriage's arrival. As soon as she had climbed out of the carriage after Jacques, there was an enormous collective sigh of relief from all the people assembled. Belle could see smiles everywhere she looked. She tentatively smiled back. Unlike the Beast in his human form, the people were complete strangers to her.

But these people, from their expressions at least, seemed to know her. Then she remembered: the curse breaking meant that not only was the Beast human again and Jacques had his voice back, but the invisible servants should also have reappeared and have their voices restored.

She _did_ know these people. She'd just never actually seen them before. So while she wasn't prompted to rush over and hug them as she had Jacques and the prince, she forgot any nerves about the crowd and greeted them all happily. One of the servants—a pleasant-looking middle-aged woman dressed more formally than most—turned out to be Madame Santine, the Mistress of Maids, the one largely responsible for Belle's care and wardrobe. She knelt to the ground even in her stiff gown to take Belle's hands in hers and kiss her forehead.

"Thank you, dear child," she said. Her voice was scratchy like Jacques's, but even so it contained a hint of warmth. "We're so happy to see that you're safe. We got quite a scare when we heard what happened this morning!"

"I was scared too, Madame Santine," Belle whispered.

"There now. You're home and safe," the older woman said. She stayed near while Belle greeted the other servants, clearly waiting for permission from Jacques to sweep her upstairs to her room for a hot bath, real clothes and breakfast.

One of the gardeners was one of the last to greet her. Like Madame Santine, he knelt before her. "Welcome home, little mistress," he said, and Belle knew him at once. He was Monsieur d'Habille, the gardener who had been helping her grow the saffron in the hotboxes. He leaned forward and whispered in her ear, "I'm glad you've come back safe. The flowers would have perished without your care."

"I'm sure you could have managed," she whispered back.

He gave a slight shake of his head. "No. They require someone special looking out for them. They should be ready for you to show his Highness in a week or so. Most of the sprouts have started to show aboveground."

"Thank you," she replied, and let Madame Santine lead her inside, with the prince and Jacques close behind.

-0-0-0-

It took them all some time to settle out from the momentous events of the day after Christmas. The prince found himself regularly joining Belle's evening dance lessons, which had started up again after giving everyone a few days to recover, just to have time each day to practice moving with flat human feet clad in shoes. Belle and Jacques never commented if he stumbled or lost his balance. Gradually and with the additional practice, things started to come back to him and moving as a human became second nature again.

Jacques and the rest of the servants recovered full use of their voices more quickly than he did his comfort with his strange-but-familiar new body. In less than a week the hoarseness of disuse had vanished and they sounded no different than anyone else when they spoke. Remembering that they could speak was another story—Jacques in particular occasionally tended to rely on expressions first and only belatedly remember that he could _say_ what was on his mind. When he did remember, a happy twinkle would come into his eye before he opened his mouth. The prince never tired of seeing it, just as he never tired of the sight of his own two hands, pale and smooth and tipped with fingernails rather than claws, performing everyday tasks like gripping a piece of chalk or turning a book page with ease. Perhaps someday he would take these things for granted again, but that day was in the hazy future.

The outside world had to intrude at some point. It was getting close to Twelfth Night, and with it, the end of the holidays and the coming of a new year. It seemed fitting, somehow. His aunts had written him wishing him the joys of the season and as usual prompting him to visit sometime soon.

This year he thought he might take them up on the offer, which he mentioned to Belle one evening before they began reading _One Thousand and One Nights_.

"Do you think I'll be ready?" she asked wistfully. Her frightening experience with Gaston had left her slightly more subdued than usual, but she was rapidly regaining the spark he had come to associate with her.

"I'm quite confident you will be," he said. "Besides, we won't be going to court itself for quite some time, probably not for several more years. This will just be family visits with my aunts and cousins. There might be some balls and dinners, but it will largely be informal—or as informal as noble families ever are. The perfect place to practice with as little pressure as possible. Besides, several of my youngest cousins are near your age. It will be good for you to spend some time with other children."

Belle looked dubious.

"Trust me," he said, trying to reassure her. "Being with people close to my own age is a pleasure I had far too little of when I was young. I would hate to deprive you of it."

"All right." Belle nodded reluctantly. He could tell she wasn't entirely sold on the idea, but she was going to take him at his word when he said 'trust me.'

He had an idea he thought she might like better. "Belle, the next time there's a court day, would you like to sit in your own chair near mine?"

She brightened visibly. "Really?"

He nodded. "Now that the curtain is no longer necessary and you're officially my ward, I don't think anyone will find it too odd. There will probably be more talk about why the curtain vanished than why you're in the room. Remember, if Jacques or I say, you still must leave the room without question and not eavesdrop."

"I promise, Papa."

 _That_ word he was certain he would never get tired of hearing.

-0-0-0-

Twelfth Night arrived without much fanfare; though had the prince's mother been in charge this would have been the most raucous and best-attended party of the holiday season. This also would have been the time when any gifts would be exchanged, in memory of the Wise Men who brought their precious gifts to the infant Jesus. The servants had managed to put together a few things for each other, and the chefs and cooks had worked together to create some delicious sweets for Belle.

"Papa?"

The prince looked up from his desk. Belle normally did not interrupt him while he was working in the afternoons—though a growl of his stomach and the slant of the sun through the big arched windows told him that it was getting close to dinnertime and perhaps she wasn't unjustified.

He put his quill aside and powdered the page before him to dry the ink. "Yes?"

"I have something I'd like to show you before dinner."

Now this _was_ unusual. The prince stood. "What is it?"

"Well…" She bit her lip and clasped her hands before her. "It's outside."

"Outside?" He noticed she already wore a cloak and had gotten one of his for him. She'd obviously come prepared. "All right."

His puzzlement and curiosity grew as she led him down through the kitchen and out into the kitchen gardens, which were still and covered in light frost. The sinking sun lent a reddish-yellow hue to everything and causing the frost to sparkle. It made the ground look as though it had tiny diamonds concealed just below the surface, ready to fall into your palm should you just start digging.

The prince trailed after Belle as she made her way through the herb gardens to the back where the row of hotboxes were. The gardeners had already been at work beginning to tend plants against the spring thaw. The prince could see bits of green through the frosted glass. Belle stopped at a particular box and used her hand to wipe away the frost. Inside was a neat row of plants just beginning to sprout. To his largely untutored eye they looked like crocuses.

"They're saffron flowers," Belle explained at his questioning look.

The prince blinked. "Saffron? Where on earth did you come across _those_? And why are you growing them?"

Belle told him about Jacques and Monsieur d'Habille helping her with them. "They said you enjoyed the things cooked with the spice when the Spanish ambassador was here years ago and that he'd left some bulbs here but no one ever dared to try to grow them. They let me try, as a gift to you. They seem to be growing fairly well so far." She paused. "I wanted to do something for you, after all you've done for me, even when you thought I couldn't help you break the spell."

"Oh, Belle." He lifted her into his arms and enfolded her into a hug. "What did I ever do to deserve you stumbling into my life? Thank you. This is a wonderful Twelfth Night present."

When he set her down and they turned to regard the growing flowers again, a thought suddenly occurred to him. "So that's what the servants meant when they dyed your Christmas gown that color."

"They said they didn't use real saffron for that," Belle said hastily. "They just came as close as they could with the dyes they had."

"It was certainly close enough to look like the real thing," he said, calling to mind its vivid, striking yellow again. "I hope you don't outgrow that gown too quickly. I'd like to show my family my little saffron blossom when we visit them. They won't fail to be impressed if they can see you in that dress just once."

"I'll try not to grow, Papa, but I just can't seem to help it."

They both laughed. "I'm sure the servants will be able to contrive something. Perhaps they'll simply keep altering the dress so that you'll still be able to wear it when you're a woman grown."

"Then I can always be your little saffron blossom."

"You always will be, no matter what."

"And you'll always be my Beast."

They stood quietly looking at the fragile plants growing in the hotboxes, snug and safe against the freezing winter wind. Then they both shivered simultaneously as a particularly arctic blast belled out both of their cloaks nearly parallel to the ground.

"It's too cold to be standing out here being sentimental," said the prince, drawing his cloak in tight. "Let's leave the flowers to their growing and go inside and have some warm dinner. I look forward to seeing them bloom once spring comes. Thank you most sincerely, dear heart. It's a very thoughtful gift."

"You're welcome, Papa."

He kissed the top of her head, then took her hand. Together they walked back inside where light and warmth and Jacques's mild reproof for staying out too long in the cold, at odds with his proud smile, awaited them.

The End

* * *

 _Author's Note: So there you have it. Apologies for taking so long (at least compared to how fast I updated most of this story) to produce this final chapter. I got engaged not long after I posted the previous chapter and that's been, um, kind of distracting, in the best way possible. I guess it's tough to buckle down and write someone else's happily ever after when you're busy thinking about your own!_

 _Oscar speech time! This story has been really fun to write and kind of a refreshingly different way of looking at the arc and construction of the Tale as Old as Time, at least for me. I did miss writing the romance a little, but I enjoyed challenging myself. I admit to being made somewhat uncomfortable by the occasional review that was gunning for a romance and anticipated that the prince was going to wait for Belle to grow up. Sorry if that's the kind of story you were expecting, but I did my best to make it very clear that this is not and never will be a May-December thing and their relationship is that of father and daughter. I had an interesting discussion with Storyteller Knight after one of these reviews showed up about how deeply the romance angle is entwined in people's expectations of this kind of story, even to the point where they're willing to overlook some seriously creepy things to get that expected romantic payoff (hello,_ Twilight _and_ Phantom of the Opera _). I even occasionally found myself falling into the well-trod romance rut and had to reword certain paragraphs that I wrote kind of on autopilot and then realized (or had to be told) that they sounded too much like hinting at a romance. As always Story is a gem for previewing all my chapters and commenting on what worked and what didn't._

 _This is one of the rare fanfics where I've got a pretty clear picture in my head of what happens to the characters in the future. I'm not sure how I would go about posting any sequel materials since they're post-curse (and not technically Beauty and the Beast anymore) and they would just be about Belle and the prince overcoming more mundane life problems than a decade-long curse. If I ever do get around to writing them, I may just add them to this story as super long bonus chapters._

 _Anyone looking for a Beauty and the Beast fix outside of fanfiction now that this story is done, I do have a few recs, some slightly off the beaten path. I will happily plug again Megan Kearney's webcomic; I think what she's doing is phenomenal work. I wait with bated breath for each update. The classics like McKinley's_ Beauty _are still there and still amazing._ Bryony and Roses _, a novella by T. Kingfisher (penname of webcomic author Ursula Vernon of_ Digger _fame)_ _blew me away with its witty retelling of the classic story. Juliet Marillier's_ Blackthorn & Grim _series focuses less on retelling Beauty and the Beast and more on retelling other fairy tales, but the two main characters fill the archetypes and their purely platonic but incredibly close relationship is a thing of beauty (no pun intended). Ms. Marillier also has a more straightforward take on the story called_ Heart's Blood. _E.K Johnson's_ One Thousand Nights _is an interesting reimagining of the frame story of the_ One Thousand and One Nights _, which as I mentioned in an earlier author's note has Beauty and the Beast elements. I haven't yet read_ The Wrath and the Dawn _, the other recently published take on the tale of Scheherazade, but I plan to in the near future._

 _What's next? Who knows! Sometimes it takes a long time between ideas, and I write when I think I have something that's worth putting down. Every so often a drabble works its way out of me. I may not have very much free time in the coming year…I've heard planning a wedding tends to take up a lot of free time._

 _Until we meet again, and well met on the common journey,_

 _Over and out,_

 _SamoaPhoenix9_


	18. Bonus Chapter 1: Waterlily

**_Bonus Chapter 1: Waterlily_**

 _Disclaimer: I do not own Beauty and the Beast. Or another story which I will not mention here for fear of spoilers. Trigger warning for bullying._

Of the three people traveling in the carriage, only one displayed no signs of nerves, and that was perhaps because Jacques was simply more skilled than Prince Louis-Michel or Belle at controlling his emotions. Jacques appeared impassive and relaxed, staring straight ahead with a thoughtful expression. Belle knew his mind was busily working on everything that would need to be seen to the moment they arrived. He hardly seemed to notice when the carriage jolted on particularly big stones in the road.

Belle could tell her guardian was nervous only because she knew him. There was a slight tension in his shoulders and his jaw was clenched, even though he was just looking out the window at the sunny fields rolling by. Anyone else observing his rigidly still form would probably think the prince was merely stern and reserved by nature. Belle knew this wasn't true; he loved to laugh and spent time relaxing and having fun whenever his schedule allowed, but she also knew he had reason to be tense.

So did she. Belle had wedged herself into a corner of the carriage and was clutching an unopened book to her chest like a talisman. It was nearly impossible to read in the carriage due to the bouncing, but she had brought the book anyway simply as a comfort. It reminded her to be brave.

They were on their way to visit the prince's family, after putting off a visit for more than a year. Belle would be meeting them for the first time, and the prince seeing them again after a decade spent under his Beast curse. His two aunts had both already been married and living with their husbands when the spell was cast, and fortunately hadn't been much inclined to visit their bachelor nephew if he would not take the trouble to come to them. They had been much too busy with their own families.

The prince and Jacques had done their best to prepare Belle for what and whom she would encounter. She'd diligently memorized the names and titles of his aunts, their husbands, and their children. His older aunt, Duchess Elisabeth, was married to the Duke de Guise, and they had seven children, the eldest of whom, Countess Sophie de Berry, was married and had produced the couple's first grandchild last year. The next three children were all boys, then three more girls. The family of the younger aunt, Duchess Marie-Charlotte d'Angoulême, was easier. She only had two children, a son and a daughter. Unfortunately, it was with the larger family that Belle and her father were on their way to stay. The Angoulêmes would arrive on their visit more than a month later. Belle hoped to have the Guise family straight by then. As an only child, Belle found even the idea of such a large family intimidating, even in so large a palace as the Guise family home promised to be.

The prince had tried to tell her as much in advance about the Guise children as he could, but some of them were young enough that they'd been born after the curse. He'd never even seen them, only read about them from his aunt's letters. And the older children, he could only tell her what they'd been like when they were young, and not as they were now, nearly (and in some cases, completely) grown into adults. Still, Belle drank in everything he had to say about his cousins, hoping for anything that could help her navigate so many people.

The prince straightened up and peered through the window with more attention. "We're nearly there!" he said.

Belle came out of her corner to peep around him. Rising up on a small hill above the fields was an extremely grand castle. There were so many glass windows it appeared to sparkle in the sunlight. Unlike their castle at home, which was built more to the vertical with many towers and spires around one tall central area which she'd learned was called a 'keep,' this one sprawled out comfortably and probably wasn't more than three stories high anywhere. The front of it appeared exactly symmetrical down to the number of windows and the decorations on the corners.

Belle glanced at the prince. He smiled. "Our home is built on older foundations than this one. Our castle was built for defense first, back when small wars for territory were much more frequent, and then had wings like the library and the ballroom built on after years and years of peace. This palace was built, oh, thirty years ago or thereabouts, largely by the current Duke de Guise's grandfather and finished by his father. I believe my aunt and the Duke are still adding to it here and there. Aunt Elisabeth has a great interest in gardens. Many of them here she designed herself. They don't really ever expect to be attacked here, so they didn't feel much need for height or narrow windows."

Belle filed all of this away in her mind, grateful that he'd read exactly what she wanted to ask. He enjoyed absorbing small interesting tidbits of information just as much as she did and she knew he was happy to have found a kindred spirit.

Jacques, who had little interest in knowledge for its own sake, cleared his throat. Both Belle and the prince shot him slightly guilty looks and sat back into more refined seating positions as they drew up to the front of the palace. As soon as they pulled to a stop and the coachman had opened the door, Jacques got out and turned to help Belle clamber out. She managed to do so without tripping on her skirts, thanks to a lot of practice in the last week before their departure. The prince climbed out behind her, and then Jacques immediately went to supervise the unloading of their luggage.

Down the front steps of the palace came an extremely regal middle-aged lady who resembled the prince enough around the chin, mouth and eyes that Belle judged this must be Aunt Elisabeth in the flesh. She was trailed by well-dressed younger people who ranged in age from perhaps twenty down to a little younger than Belle herself, all with reddish hair very similar to the prince's. These would be the fabled Guise cousins. Belle tried not to cower from all of those curious pairs of blue eyes watching her. No longer was she the shut-in and abused slave of the town drunk, she was the beloved daughter of a prince! She would strive to be brave like her hero, Shehrezade.

"Michel," said the woman, holding out her arms with a smile as she came forward towards the prince. They didn't quite embrace, but held each other's shoulders while she kissed his cheeks. "It's good to see you after all of these years. I didn't think you were ever going to leave that little backward province again."

Belle bristled a little, and noted out of the corner of her eye that the prince did as well, though not enough that his aunt noticed. "It's good to be seen again, Aunt," was what he said.

They both turned to Belle, who stood with her most perfect posture. She thought Jacques would be proud when the woman actually smiled approvingly. "You must be Miss DuPont. My nephew has written a great deal about you."

 _And you don't even know the whole story,_ Belle thought to herself as she sank into a deep curtsey. "Your grace," she murmured.

"Belle, may I present Duchess Elisabeth de Guise?" said the prince. "Aunt, Miss Belle DuPont, my ward."

"A pleasure, child." The Duchess nodded to Belle as she rose. "Such a graceful curtsey is rare in one so young." She raised her voice slightly at this, making sure the words carried. Belle saw the youngest two girls, the ones she guessed nearest to her own age, squirm a little. The eldest girl scowled.

"Come, let me present you both to your cousins," said the Duchess, leading them over. The children had formed a neat line, clearly by age and therefore in importance.

The eldest daughter, the married one, was of course away with her husband and child at their own home a few hours away. The first presented was Count Louis de Guise, the eldest son and the heir to this palace and all of the lands around it. At nineteen, he resembled his older cousin so much Belle wondered if the prince hadn't looked exactly like that the fateful day he met the enchantress eleven years earlier. The next eldest, Lord Antoine, the seventeen-year-old, barely looked at either Belle or the prince, being too interested in picking some invisible dust from his coat jacket. The next son, fifteen-year-old Lord Marc, was, according to the Duchess, "Away at school." She pronounced this with an airy voice and a wave of her hand. Belle concluded from this that the Duchess did not approve of his schooling for some reason.

Then came the girls: Lady Louise, who was thirteen, Lady Marguerite, ten, and Lady Clothilde, nine. They all curtsied to Belle, and while Belle couldn't see anything wrong with the movement, the Duchess frowned disappointedly at them. "Clearly you all still need practice," she said.

"I still need practice myself," said Belle, surprising them all. "Perhaps I could join them at their lessons while I'm here?" The prince had encouraged her to find excuses to spend time with the girls, who were all very near Belle's age, and this seemed as good an excuse as any. She glanced back at her guardian, and he smiled and nodded approvingly.

The Duchess blinked. "That's a very lovely thought, dear. Michel has informed me you have your own private lessons in the more academic subjects from him, but you are certainly welcome to join the girls at their etiquette and dancing lessons if you wish. They'll be happy to have you, won't you, girls?"

Belle looked at the three girls hopefully. It was hard to tell whether they would be happy or not, though all three answered the affirmative. Belle wasn't sure she liked the way Lady Louise was looking at her. There was a definitely a tilt to her head and a flare to her nose that made it seem as if she observed something dirty and far beneath her. Suddenly joining them for lessons seemed like an ill-conceived idea, but it was too late now.

"Come along," said the Duchess, oblivious to Belle's nerves. "Let's get you settled in and then you can join us for dinner."

-0-0-0-

Despite Belle's misgivings, everyone appeared on their best behavior at dinner. At dinner she also met the Duke de Guise, and took an instant dislike to him. Though nothing like him in appearance, the man reminded her far too much of her no-longer-father, Gaston. He insisted on being the center of attention and, in Belle's opinion, seemed threatened by the greater rank of his wife's nephew. Whenever the prince said anything, the Duke made a point of disagreeing with him. Belle could tell that while irritated at first, eventually her guardian found the situation amusing. He occasionally ducked his head to hide a smile. The Duchess did not gainsay her husband, but over the course of dinner she kept shooting him irritated looks.

Belle took her own cue from the other children. Only the eldest, Count Louis, joined in the conversation. All the rest, from the surly Lord Antoine to the clearly overawed Lady Clothilde, said not a word the entire time. They appeared to be concentrating hard on their plates, but from careful glances sideways down the table Belle could tell that Lady Louise, at least, was listening to every word the adults said. Belle, for her part, focused on doing Jacques credit in all of his hours of lessons preparing for just this situation. If she made any lapses, no one said anything, though she knew if she had Jacques would tell her later. He stood nearby with the other servingmen and helped to wait on the nobility—and Belle—at the table. His familiar presence actually helped her stay calm and not get too anxious about making a mistake.

She called on the prince in his chamber after dinner to say goodnight. He and Jacques were looking over some paperwork and talking in low voices when she came in. Both men smiled broadly to see her standing in the doorway.

"Come in, Belle," said the prince.

"How did you find your rooms?" asked Jacques.

"They're very nice." She felt compelled to add, "My rooms at home are much nicer, of course. Thank you for bringing my book in from the carriage."

"You're very welcome, little mistress." Jacques inclined his head. "I assume that's why you're here."

Belle looked anxiously at the prince. "If you have time, Papa."

"Of course, dear heart. If every dinner is going to be like that one, I'm going to need our reading time before bed even more than usual to calm down enough to sleep. Come here, sit by me." He went over to the fire and they sat down together to read _One Thousand and One Nights_ , as they'd now been doing for over a year. And for awhile, at least, Belle could pretend they were home again.

-0-0-0-

As Belle had feared, lessons with the Guise girls did not go well. She was used to Jacques' methods, which mostly consisted of a great deal of repetition, with gentle corrections for mistakes until Belle's body knew what to do before she thought about it. The girls' formidable etiquette master, however, was not a patient man and cruelly pointed out errors in a loud voice, even when Belle was certain no errors had been made. The Guise sisters did a remarkable job of keeping their composure in the face of the criticism and blatant insults to their intelligence, a skill Belle admired and did her best to mimic.

"You're so graceful," Lady Clothilde whispered confidentially to her while they were taking a brief rest. "I know Mama told us you were born a peasant, but it's difficult to believe. Your curtseys are perfect, no matter what Master le Grand says. Do you like to dance?"

Belle nodded. "Some dances more than others. I admit I prefer the country dances."

Lady Clothilde opened her mouth to reply, but Lady Louise cut in sharply. "Well, what can one expect from a base-born peasant to prefer the wild dances? A true noble would prefer the control and precision of a minuet." She turned on her heel and walked away, saying more loudly, "Come, it's time we resumed our lessons, _ladies_." The look she gave Belle over her shoulder indicated Belle was not included in this statement.

Lady Clothilde glanced apologetically at Belle but obediently followed her sister.

Things continued in that vein for the rest of the lesson and indeed for the remainder of the day. Lady Louise went out of her way to point up Belle's humble origins at every chance she got, intimating that this indicated a serious lack of refinement that could never be made up for. This only increased when the two brothers joined them for dance lessons. Nervous and upset, Belle performed poorly, even stepping on Lord Antoine's foot. He glared at her.

"Young miss," said Master le Grand sternly, "If you cannot be compelled to take this seriously, then you are dismissed for the afternoon. I hope to see some improvement in a few days, but I certainly don't expect it. I've yet to encounter a peasant who could master these steps."

Thoroughly humiliated and close to tears, Belle fled. The prince was not in his rooms, and Jacques was likewise nowhere to be found. Unlike at home, the servants' areas were forbidden to her, and anyway none of their personal servants besides Jacques had traveled with them, not even Madame Santine who usually looked after Belle. She would find no comfort in others this time.

As she often did when troubled, Belle wandered aimlessly, and was soon thoroughly lost. A small side door led outside into a secluded garden centered around a small pond set in a beautiful little grove of trees. With an involuntary sound of relief Belle flung herself down on a big flat rock bordering the pond and cried, hiding her face in her folded arms.

A small, concerned-sounding croak between her sobs caused her to look up. A little green frog about the size of her palm sat before her, its throat moving in and out as it regarded her through big black eyes.

"Hello," said Belle, because it seemed rude not to acknowledge the creature. After all, it did live in a palace, even if it was just a frog. "I suppose this is your pond. I'm sorry to have intruded with all of my fuss and noise."

The frog continued to stare. It gave another small croak and scooted itself a step nearer.

"It's nothing," sighed Belle, hiccupping back another sob. "Well, I suppose to you it would be nothing. You're lucky. A frog doesn't need to care about what anyone thinks, or learning all sorts of rules only to have people make fun of you anyway. You can just swim in the pond and catch flies for your supper without a care in the world. I envy you."

Another croak. Belle shook off the brief fancy that the frog sounded sad.

"Do you mind if I stay and admire your pond for awhile?" she asked. "No one cares where I am just now, and this place is so beautiful. It's as nice as our gardens at home, at least."

As if in answer, the frog dove into the pond, but it did not swim far away. It just rested on the bank half in and half out of the water and continued to regard her.

"Thank you," said Belle. She continued to sit there and let the breeze stir her hair and watch it ruffle the surface of the pond and the leaves of the trees. The frog stayed and kept her company. She supposed it was just keeping her in sight out of a sense of caution that she might be dangerous, but she found his presence comforting nevertheless.

All too soon her rumbling stomach told her it was time to go inside and dress for dinner. Last year, her strategy had been to wander around until someone found her and steered her in the right direction. She hoped the same thing would work here.

"I have to go," she said reluctantly. "Would you mind if I came again some other day? And maybe brought a book? I suspect dealing with my new cousins isn't going to get any easier."

An almost emphatic croak was her response. "I'll take that as a yes," smiled Belle, and she slipped back into the castle.

-0-0-0-

Jacques did find her in relatively short order and took her back to her rooms. She explained where she had been, and why. Jacques frowned deeply. "They shouldn't treat you like that. You're the Master's ward, practically his daughter in everything but blood. You may not be of noble blood, but you have every bit as good a chance at making a fine match as any of them when you're grown. In fact, your prospects are better, since they're the second, third and fourth daughters in a large family and the Master has already set aside an excellent dowry for you." He sighed. "I suspect from what you've told me the oldest girl—Lady Louise, not Countess Sophie—may have overheard something to that effect from her parents and she's likely jealous."

"Jealous? Of me?" said Belle skeptically. "She's the daughter of a princess; she was brought up in luxury I would never have dreamed of as Gaston's daughter. Papa rescued me just as much as I rescued him when we broke the curse. What could she possibly be jealous of?"

Jacques smiled ruefully and smoothed back a lock of her hair behind her ear. "Setting aside the dowry, little mistress, you have many, many qualities to admire. People are naturally attracted to someone with as good and gentle a soul as you have, even if they don't quite realize why. You'll inspire praise and esteem your entire life. You will likely hear the word 'beautiful' used with great frequency, when other girls are merely 'pretty.' It has nothing to do with your looks.

"I don't say this to turn your head, Belle, understand. I say this to prepare you. The kind of light and joy you bring to peoples' lives, some people will always be jealous of and covet it for themselves. They'll try to snuff it out with cruel words and snubs, finding fault where there is none to make themselves feel better. Lady Louise is only the first such. I urge you not to let her doubt yourself. Noble blood isn't everything that gives someone worth."

Belle hugged him tight. "Thank you, Jacques. I'll try to remember that when Lady Louise is mean to me."

"That's our girl," said another voice from the doorway. The prince stood there, and from the look on his face, he had heard everything.

"Papa!" Belle ran and hugged him as well, struggling not to cry again.

"Belle," he said. "Jacques is quite right. You shouldn't doubt your worth for a minute. And I can speak to the instructor about treating you with respect."

"I'm not sure you should interfere, Master," Jacques opined. Both Belle and the prince turned to look at him in confusion.

"Why not?" asked Belle.

"We should be cautious about making things worse, at least when it comes to Belle's treatment by the Guise daughters. From what Belle told me about the lessons, the instructor was just as discourteous to them as he was to her. If they see her getting special treatment, they'll resent Belle all the more."

"I could just stop going to their lessons and let you teach me again while we're here," suggested Belle hopefully.

The prince frowned. "Much as I like that solution to spare you pain, since it seems you're going to have difficulty getting along with the girls, I'm not certain you should back out so quickly. You may be able earn their respect, especially if you keep going back no matter what the instructor or Louise says to demean you. You did say Clothilde said something nice to you."

"That's true," Belle admitted. "Maybe she and Lady Marguerite aren't so bad. Lady Marguerite hardly says anything at all."

"And even if you and Louise never get along, at least you'll know she didn't make you quit after the very first day," said the prince.

Belle hated to acknowledge he was right, but it also lit a small fire of stubbornness. She wouldn't let Lady Louise beat her so easily. She vowed she'd just get used to the insults, especially if, as Jacques said, she wouldn't be the last.

"I'll try," she said. "But I'll be counting the days until we go home."

"So will I," agreed the prince with a short laugh. "After all, Belle, remember: you might have to spend time with Lady Louise while we're here, but I'm stuck with her father. I've been occasionally tempted to remark on the blueness of the sky, just to watch him turn cartwheels in a desperate attempt to contradict me."

Belle laughed, too. Put that way, a few hours of etiquette lessons and dealing with Lady Louise's occasional barbs about her origins didn't sound quite so bad.

-0-0-0-

Lady Louise did not relent as the next two weeks stretched on. Belle took whatever was thrown her way, though she was not above glaring whenever the girl said something particularly nasty. Lady Marguerite and Lady Clothilde never came to Belle's defense or tried to befriend her, but Clothilde at least did sometimes go out of her way to surreptitiously compliment Belle out of Louise's hearing as if trying to make up for how rude her sister was being. Master le Grand did relent somewhat once he saw how determined Belle was to work hard and not be beaten by his abuse, though all of the students endured his constant insults and cutting remarks. At least he made no more comments about Belle being unable to learn because she was born a peasant—she wondered if the prince had had a word with him about that, at least, if not about treating his pupils better.

As soon as she was released from lessons, Belle would seek out the garden with the pond. She got the prince to show her where the library was, and if it was nowhere near as extensive as the one at home, it at least had some books that appealed to her. She also through Jacques made friends with two of the younger assistant cooks, who in exchange for the occasional tip Belle had learned from their own cooks and chefs at home would leave her small packed lunches hidden in a particular niche to take out to the garden with her. Therefore she was free to avoid everyone else until dinnertime.

The frog was always waiting for her. Belle fed him tidbits of bread and sometimes read her books aloud to him. She'd repeat Lady Louise's latest slight, and somehow saying it aloud made it silly and laughable, something to be brushed off rather than taken to heart. She ended up spending an entire afternoon telling him her story, from the death of her mother to her indenture to the prince that ended up being the key to breaking his Beast-curse. The frog listened with great attentiveness and occasional encouraging croaks when something was difficult to say.

She had no idea what to make of her little friend. Somehow he seemed to her a bit unusual for a frog. Other frogs she'd encountered in the gardens at home were largely indifferent to her once they established that she was not a threat. They'd wander or swim away to attend to their own froggy business eventually if she didn't bother them. This frog was always around when she came to the pond, and always seemed to be paying attention to her, especially whenever she spoke to him. She could almost fool herself into thinking he was listening.

She tried not to think too hard about it. After all, she was the one crazy enough to talk to a frog and imagine he actually understood her. His silent, apparently receptive presence was very helpful in dealing with the tense, unbalanced life in the Guise household and she was happy to take comfort in whatever way she could find it even if it came from an unusual source. Stranger things had happened to her.

-0-0-0-

One afternoon as Belle was making her way back to her room around sunset to change as usual, her ears picked up an odd sound echoing down the corridor. She frowned. It sounded like a woman crying.

She followed the noises as quietly as she could, wondering what could possibly be the matter. She was led to a half-open door which, from what she could see of it, opened onto a smaller parlor. The sounds grew more muffled, and eventually solidified into speech, though so low Belle could barely hear it.

"…can't imagine where he's…it's been weeks and we haven't heard…"

"Don't worry." The prince's voice came clear. "I'm sure someone will find him. He couldn't have gotten far with no money, especially if, as you say, none of his school friends have seen him."

"Don't give up hope yet, my dear." The Duke's voice was unusually soothing and gentle, and for once he didn't seem to be disagreeing with his nephew-by-marriage. "He'll turn up. Probably went on a little adventure—boys that age often do, and they always come out in the wash. I've often said he's the smartest of the brood. He's got his nose stuck in a book enough."

"I know, but—"

At this point the door abruptly closed. Obviously one of its occupants had come up unheard in an effort to give their conversation more privacy. Belle could still hear the voices, but couldn't make out what they were saying. She tiptoed away and went back to her own room.

-0-0-0-

Belle wanted to ask the prince about what she'd overheard, but that would mean admitting she'd been eavesdropping, something she knew from past experience he disapproved of her doing. She also wasn't entirely sure he'd tell her, if the conversation was supposed to have been private. She didn't want to have to force him to lie or evade. So instead of asking, she did her best to forget about it. She wondered about it at odd moments over the next week and even mentioned it to her frog companion just to tell _someone_ , but tried not to let her curiosity overcome her too much.

One particularly pristine afternoon Belle was sitting by the pond as usual. She had just opened up _Gulliver's Travels_ when the jeweled hairpin she'd been using as a bookmark accidentally rolled down the rock and into the pond. One bright flash from the gems on it, and it was gone.

"Drat!" groaned Belle. The hairpin was one of a set, and while it was in a design she didn't particularly care for—hence its use as a bookmark rather than its intended purpose—it was still an expensive piece of jewelry someone had taken a great deal of effort to make. She didn't like to lose anything that cost that much if she could help it.

She peered into the dark water, but the hairpin was nowhere to be seen. Just as she was debating the wisdom of reaching down to see if she could feel for it, there was a splash. The frog had dived into the water. He disappeared into the murk for a moment, then reappeared with something clenched in his lipless mouth.

It was her hairpin. Belle's jaw dropped. She hadn't imagined frogs were that smart. Clearly she was going to have to find a book on them in short order and see if this was even remotely normal behavior.

The frog popped out of the water and carefully deposited the hairpin on the ground before her. She picked it up and examined it. Other than being wet—which was quickly remedied by drying it on her petticoat—it seemed perfectly fine for its short adventure. "Thank you. Thank you very much," she said to the frog. Tentatively, she held out a hand, and the frog hopped onto it without hesitation. Belle rubbed him gently on the head with the tip of one finger. He wasn't as slimy as she'd expected, though he was still shiny and wet from his dive. He also didn't seem to object to her touching him.

Not certain what compelled her to do so, she leaned down and kissed him on the head.

"Exactly the kind of behavior I'd expect from a dirty peasant," sneered a voice from behind her.

Belle was so startled, she dropped the frog. Fortunately he landed in the pond water and not on stone, though he hit with a wet smack that sounded uncomfortable.

Belle turned to face Louise. The older girl stood over her, arms folded and looking smug.

Belle sighed angrily and got to her feet. She'd had just about enough, and there was no one else around to observe them. Besides, Louise had almost made her hurt her friend by accident. "Will you please leave me alone for once?" she snapped. "What do you care where and with whom I spend my time?"

Lady Louise actually looked taken aback that Belle had finally stood up to an insult. She recovered quickly. "It is my business, common peasant, when you're anywhere on these grounds. They belong to my father. I could have him tell you not to come here anymore."

Belle felt a flash of panic. The Duke wouldn't really do that, would he? This place had come to be an important refuge. But her anger quickly overtook her fear. She controlled her face enough to smile sweetly, if ironically, shrugged and said, "Why bother? If I'm so beneath your exalted birth, as you're _constantly_ reminding everyone, then why do you waste so much of your breath insulting me and worrying about what I do? If I really am so base as you claim, it shouldn't be worth your precious time. My lady."

Lady Louise went to backhand her. Belle saw it coming and knew she wouldn't be able to dodge in time, not if she didn't want to end up in the pond behind her. She also knew the rings Louise wore would hurt. A lot. She braced herself.

The expected pain never came. Louise let out an unladylike squawk of surprise.

Belle blinked. A hand had come out of nowhere to seize Louise's wrist, preventing her from hitting Belle's face. She hadn't even known there was someone else in the garden.

The boy who had appeared so abruptly to rescue her was someone she had never seen before. He was much taller than either Belle or Louise, and while he had the reddish hair all of the Guise children had inherited from their mother to one degree or another, he definitely was too young to be Count Louis or Lord Antoine. He was thin, almost painfully so, and had the slightly-stretched look of someone who hasn't quite finished growing, but he was definitely strong enough to stop Louise's slap in midair.

"Don't you dare touch her," he growled at Louise.

She blanched. "Marc?" Then she blinked and took a step back. "Marc! Where did you come from? Where—where on earth have you _been_?"

"That's none of your business," he snapped, with such vehemence that Louise stumbled another step backwards. He released her wrist and took a menacing step so that he stood between her and Belle. "What is the matter with you, Louise, going to slap a guest? Did you think no one would notice when she turned up with marks all over her face? Where are your manners? This isn't the way someone of our house behaves!"

Louise paled. "I didn't mean—I didn't think—"

"Of course you didn't. I bet you've been tormenting her the entire time she's been here, too. Well, that's going to stop right now. Apologize to our guest, and then go inside and get Mother and Father and tell them I'm home."

Lady Louise hesitated. Belle almost felt sorry for her in her utter confusion. Belle was just as confused, though she was grateful to—this must be Lord Marc, the third son who had been away at school all this time—for stopping his sister.

"Go on, apologize," the bigger boy said, his posture still slightly threatening.

"I—I'm sorry," whispered Louise, looking at the ground.

"She didn't hear you," rumbled Lord Marc, his voice surprisingly deep for someone so thin. Belle was briefly reminded of her guardian back when he was a Beast.

"I'm s-sorry," Louise said more loudly, then fled back into the palace.

They watched her go without a word. After a moment, Lord Marc turned to look down at Belle. Unlike the rest of the Guise children, she saw, his eyes were green. In fact, other than the characteristic red hair his features resembled the Duke's more than any of his brothers and sisters. His face was much friendlier than the Duke's, however, which Belle was relieved to see.

She remembered her manners and dipped a curtsy. "Thank you, my lord."

He bowed back. "You're welcome. My dear sister can be quite a bully when she puts her mind to it. It seems she's gotten worse since I've been gone. I apologize for the way she's treated you. By the way, what was your name? I never caught it."

"Belle DuPont, my lord. Prince Louis-Michel de Bourbon is my guardian."

"Marc de Guise. A pleasure to meet you, Miss DuPont." Belle noted that he deliberately left out his title. "My mother wrote to me at school saying my cousin Michel and his ward were coming to stay for a month or two. I wondered if that might be you."

"Yes, we've been here for a few weeks. I didn't know they were expecting you home." She glanced around. "How _did_ you get in here, anyway? I've never seen anyone else in this garden until today and I've been here every afternoon."

His eyes skittered away from hers for a moment. "Well…perhaps you'll think me childish, but I was…sneaking through here to surprise everyone rather than come in through the front and have to deal with the Royal Welcome. As you said, no one ever comes through this part of the gardens so…I thought I was safe. I didn't expect to have to stop Louise from doing something so thoughtless. She could have really hurt you! Are you all right?"

"Yes. You showed up at exactly the right time." To her embarrassment, Belle felt her face heating a little. "Thank you again for stepping in."

"It was the least I could do." This seemed to Belle like an odd thing to say, but she was distracted when he picked up her hand and kissed the back of it. It was a strangely sincere gesture, and even more odd coming from a boy of fifteen to a girl of eleven. She found herself tongue-tied when faced with this show of unabashed respect after days of ridicule and silence from the rest of his siblings.

He seemed about to say something else when the door to the palace crashed open. The Duke and Duchess came hurrying out, followed by their other children. Lord Marc braced himself as his mother flung herself onto him and began crying on his shoulder.

"It's all right, Mother. I'm home," he said a little awkwardly.

"Elisabeth, for heaven's sake, you're embarrassing the boy. Let him breathe," said the Duke. Between them they managed to pry the Duchess off her son's neck, and then all of them swept back into the house in a cacophony of voices talking at once. Belle was entirely forgotten in all the hubbub and within seconds she was alone in the garden again.

She glanced around. Her book still lay on the stone, along with the hairpin the frog had retrieved.

The frog! She had forgotten all about her friend. Belle hurried to the pond and began searching for him, but though she looked hard, she did not spot him either in the pond or anywhere nearby. She didn't think the fall had been hard enough to seriously hurt him, but maybe she'd been mistaken. Eventually as the light faded she was forced to abandon her search, but she vowed to look twice as hard the next afternoon.

The fuss over Lord Marc's abrupt return had largely died down by dinner, and everyone acted as if he'd been there all along. Lady Louise was much more subdued than usual, and she studiously avoided catching either Belle or Lord Marc's eye the entire time they were eating. In contrast, Belle noticed the prince observing the newcomer with interest on occasion. Belle herself surreptitiously watched Lord Marc out of the corner of her vision, but he ate quietly and listened to the adults' conversation just like all of the rest of his underage brothers and sisters. She did note he seemed to eat twice as much as everyone else. At one point he caught her watching him and gave her a small smile. Belle's palms went sweaty and she applied herself to her own food.

-0-0-0-

Lord Marc joined them for dancing lessons the next day with Count Louis and Lord Antoine. Belle was almost grateful that the spotlight was off of her for once as Master le Grand busied himself correcting the bad habits the prodigal had picked up at school. Lord Marc was also a terrible dancer. He remembered the steps well enough, but he was all elbows and knees and not remotely graceful. He constantly tripped over his own feet and invisible things on the ground. Even Clothilde looked very well indeed compared to him.

"I'm out of practice," was his excuse, and then he proceeded to studiously ignore Master le Grand's bluster.

Lady Louise was still giving both Belle and her next-older sibling the silent treatment, which Belle thought was a nice change. It meant Lady Marguerite and Lady Clothilde were much more relaxed around their guest now that they were not tiptoeing around their sister's temper.

After they were dismissed, Belle went first to the library, where she picked out a volume on natural history that had a chapter dedicated to frogs and toads. This she took down to the garden pond, only to find Lord Marc already there. He had leaned his lanky frame against a tree and was deeply absorbed in a thick book of his own, a pair of brass-rimmed spectacles perched on the end of his nose.

Belle hesitated, but before she could decide what to do he looked up and noticed her. He waved her to join him.

"I didn't mean—" she began as she approached, but he waved a hand again, dismissing what she had been going to say.

"I'll leave if you want to be alone," he said. "There are a lot of us, I know, but I'm used to it. It must be overwhelming for you sometimes since you don't have any brothers and sisters."

Belle nodded. "You can stay if you want to. I don't mind having company to read." And it would spare her feeling utterly desolated if her frog friend did not appear.

She settled down in her usual spot and propped open her book. He peered at the cover through his glasses. "An unusual choice. Not _Robinson Crusoe_?"

"No, I have some research I wanted to do today instead." She hesitated. "I didn't know you wore spectacles."

"It's my secret shame," he said with a grin. "I can see just find over distances, but I can't read at all without my specs. It's such an embarrassment, since I need to read a great deal for my studies."

"What are you studying?" Belle looked at the cover of his book, but the title was in Latin and she couldn't read it.

"Hasn't anyone told you? I'm a third son; I won't get any inheritance and I'll have to earn my living as a man. There are only three open doors for noble boys in my position: the church, the battlefield, or the bar. I took door number three."

"The bar? What does that mean?"

"Legal studies. I'm going to be a lawyer, and possibly a judge someday if I'm fortunate."

"Really? That's wonderful! I'd love to hear about it." Belle set her book aside and leaned forward eagerly.

He looked surprised at her enthusiasm, but then Belle knew most girls didn't share her interest in the justice system. She couldn't help but be a little jealous as Lord Marc described his studies. Boys probably didn't know how lucky they had it. The law could actually be their profession if they wanted.

They talked until it was time to go in for dinner. Belle only realized afterwards that not only had the frog not appeared, but she had been too absorbed in her conversation to notice, or to read the chapter on frogs in the book she'd brought. She just hoped the frog was all right and maybe she'd see him again by the end of the summer.

-0-0-0-

After his abrupt return, Lord Marc met her at the pond at least three times a week for the rest of Belle's stay with the Guises. Usually they read quietly, but sometimes they talked and sometimes they took turns reading aloud. Lord Marc never said anything if Belle stumbled over a particularly difficult word, he just waited patiently for her to sound it out. By the end of the visit, quiet Lady Marguerite was also joining them, bringing a book of her own.

The frog never reappeared, but with the additions of Lord Marc and Lady Marguerite Belle found she didn't miss him as much as she thought she would. She did hope that he was all right and that he hadn't been killed from being accidentally dropped. She doubted it, but she did wonder sometimes why he'd vanished so mysteriously.

Lady Louise did eventually begin speaking to her brother and Belle again, though in Belle's case only when absolutely necessary. She stopped tormenting Belle entirely even when Lord Marc wasn't there, and Belle could only be grateful to him for effecting the change. She didn't think she and Louise would ever get along, but at least the rest of the visit wasn't entirely ruined by her snide comments as Belle had feared early on. She even survived the arrival of the prince's other aunt, Duchess Marie-Charlotte, and her family. The two children, Charles and Arlette, were younger even than Lady Clothilde, and they had a fine time playing in the nursery and in one of the bigger gardens with Clothilde, Marguerite and Belle, who were still young enough to appreciate children's games. The other children were astounded Belle did not know some of their favorites and proceeded to teach her as much as they could cram into a week's visit.

Finally, the last day came. Belle, the prince, Jacques and the rest of their entourage would depart for home first thing in the morning. The weather looked inclined to rain, unlike the pristine golden sunshine they'd had for most of the stay. Belle was not particularly looking forward to traveling in the wet. Everyone would be grouchy, all of their things would be damp, and there would be a very real danger of getting stuck in the mud, which meant their trip home would take even longer.

Before the rain came, however, she did have one thing she wanted to do outside. She scoured the gardens for the most perfect white rose she could find and clipped it (with Duchess Elisabeth's permission, of course). Then she took it to the pond and floated the rose across the water.

"Goodbye, my friend. And thank you. Maybe I'll see you again someday. I wish you well."

When she turned around to go back inside, Lord Marc was standing in the doorway watching her, arms crossed and looking very serious. He chivalrously held the door open as she approached. After he closed the door behind them, for a moment while they were still alone he draped an arm across her shoulders and squeezed, as if he knew what she had done and why. She wondered how long he'd been watching her and what he made of her little private ceremony of farewell. Whatever opinions he had, he did not voice them.

Belle was sorry to say goodbye to Lord Marc and Lady Marguerite, and even the Duchess to an extent. She had never gotten entirely comfortable in the Guise household, but the three of them had made the second half of her time here somewhat more pleasurable. She would not be sorry to come back again. That was something, at least.

After their last dinner she came into her rooms with the prince so that they could read as usual. Jacques was already there, seeing to some last-minute packing. He gestured to the dressing table.

"That was there when I came in. I think it's for you, little mistress. Apparently you made a favorable impression on someone. They went to a lot of trouble to get it in here without being seen." He and the prince exchanged glances, Jacques' amused, the prince's slightly alarmed for some reason.

On the table sat a flat glass bowl filled with water. It was quite large, and the glass was beautifully clear, but the water itself was murky pond water. Floating in it was one perfect white water lily.

* * *

 _Author's Note: Yep, the fairy tale is exactly what you think it is. I'm pretty sure my readership is observant enough (and genre-savvy enough) to correctly guess where Marc's actually been. Belle just can't help it, can she? Fear not, this shouldn't be the last of my bonus chapters. I still have a few future plots swimming around in my head. I enjoyed writing this so much I tore through it in less than two days. I hope you enjoyed this little fast-forward to a year after the curse._

 _On a personal note, I was bullied during my preteen years. Unlike with Belle, there was never any clear reason why I became a target, though looking back I was a smart kid and kinda unconsciously arrogant about it so my peers may have felt I needed to get taken down a peg while making themselves feel better about their parents' divorces (and assorted other personal problems) in the process. It was tough to delve deliberately back into that world of petty slights and constant insinuations of not being good enough even briefly to write this fic. I had some conversations very like the one Belle has with Jacques and the prince with my mom about whether or not she should interfere. The bullying left an indelible mark on my personality and it took me years to get over the emotional damage. Fortunately I eventually did find people who accepted me for who I am and I also re-learned confidence in my own worth as a person. It took a lot of work and deliberate effort to get there. I could have given up and never trusted anyone again. But to anyone dealing with bullying, there is a light at the end of the tunnel. There are people out there who will accept you, I promise._


	19. Bonus Chapter 2: Weeping Willow

_Disclaimer: I do not own Beauty and the Beast._

Dear Marc,

Thank you for your last letter. I'm glad your studies are going well. I hardly know how you have time to write to me! But it's always good to hear from you and I look forward to your letters. I think that case your professor put to your class is a particularly difficult one. After looking up the antecedents in the law books you recommended, I told Papa about it, and he said he once had a case like that brought before him years ago. He said that in the end he grew so tired of the haggling back and forth that he demanded both parties pay the maximum amount of damages to the other, which meant that they came out about even but both felt they had been satisfied and there was no more quarrel. As it turned out, a few years later the son of one married the daughter of the other! Papa said it was a good thing all had been forgiven by that point or he'd have had a true-to-life case of Romeo and Juliet on his hands and he'd have had the dubious honor of being cast as Prince Escalus. I think he was exaggerating only slightly; sometimes feuds in the smaller villages do last for years. For all his claims about not knowing enough to really feel justice is being done, Papa usually comes up with a clever solution.

The news from here is that we are finally on our way to the royal court at last. I am nervous but also somewhat excited; I think Papa feels the same. Unfortunately since we will be gone so long Jacques is not to accompany us. He has to stay and take care of the province's business in Papa's absence. The thought of being without Jacques I think has us both in knots. I don't know how either of us will get along without him.

I'm sorry that we likely won't see you there, either; I would like to meet you in person again. I've greatly enjoyed our correspondence since the summer we met (can it be nearly two years already?). At least I've been told we will see your Mother and Father and the d'Angoulêmes, though not the little ones. It will be good to have some familiar faces.

As always, I wish you all the best in your studies.

Yours,

Belle

-0-0-0-

"For the thousandth time, I wish you were coming with us," said the prince.

"And for the thousandth time, Master, I cannot. There is too much to do here if you are to be gone for six months," said Jacques, carefully folding another cravat. "Three, we might have managed, but then by the time you got there, there would hardly be enough time to do more than salute the King and Queen before you had to turn around and come back."

"I thought that was the whole point of this venture."

"There is more that needs to be done than that and you know it," said Jacques.

The prince glared at him. Yes, there was some provincial business to attend to that would take some time, and Belle at least should get an idea of what the court was like firsthand before her formal society debut in a few years. However, the unstated purpose of this visit, in no uncertain terms according to strongly-worded letters from both of his aunts, was for him to find a wife. They had pestered him about it for years, but as long as he confined himself to his estates there wasn't much pressure they could bring to bear. Of course, they hadn't known about the Beast curse that had kept him hiding out for a decade, uncertain if he'd ever be able to show himself in public again. But now that he was obviously making an effort to be part of the larger world after years of isolation, they had redoubled their efforts to convince him that he needed a wife, and by extension, an heir.

His beloved daughter Belle was only his ward; while he could leave her a significant monetary inheritance, by law the estate and title itself had to pass to someone of his own blood. At the moment that someone was his cousin Lord Antoine de Guise, his aunt's indolent second son, but any sons of his own would take precedent. While in abstract he liked the idea of leaving his title to a child he'd raised, there were required several crucial and delicate steps in between. Namely, finding a wife and begetting such a child.

He didn't want to marry just anyone, that was the problem. The curse had seen to that. While ultimately it had been his fatherly love for Belle that had broken the curse, for years he had labored under the impression that he'd have to find someone extraordinary, someone who could see past his outer appearance and fall in love with the man inside. If he was honest with himself, he still wanted that—a woman who would love him for himself and not the prestige of being a princess and giving birth to a future prince.

He wasn't a fool. He knew how royal marriages worked; his own parents were proof that it was all about bloodline and money, not compatibility. He also knew what he was in for the moment he arrived at court: he would become the prize bull mothers would be looking to rope in for their daughters, instantly the most eligible bachelor in the place. No one would see him for himself, only as a prize to be won. The fallout and heartache from a mismatched marriage—which he'd witnessed himself as a child—could be dealt with once a girl had caught him and borne him that all-important son.

"Master." Jacques's voice broke into his reverie.

"What?" he said. "I didn't hear you. I was…thinking."

Jacques looked at him kindly. "You were worrying, as you have been for the past month at least. This question of impending marriage has you overwrought."

"You know why I'm worried, Jacques. I don't just want a woman to share my bed and give me children. And I worry…it will be difficult for a woman to understand me without knowing my past. She won't understand my relationship with Belle at all, or why she's so important to me—and to all of us. To everyone outside this castle, Belle is an insignificant peasant girl who I've taken an interest in for some reason. My family has accepted her for the most part, but so many won't."

"What happened to your father won't necessarily happen to you." Jacques always managed to startle the prince with his perception, despite all the years they'd been master and steward. "You're in a different position than he was. His father was still alive when he married your mother; it was your grandfathers who arranged the match and neither of your parents had much say. Your aunts may try to influence your decision and to steer your towards those they've deemed suitable, but ultimately the decision on whom to marry is yours alone. Only his Majesty the king has any say in your marriage, since you are a distant Prince of the Blood, and it is not likely he'd refuse you any wife you chose to take so long as it didn't give you or your heirs a stronger claim to the throne of France."

For some reason, this hadn't occurred to the prince until now. It did make him feel slightly better, that he'd have more choice in the matter than his parents or indeed most of his other noble relations. It didn't make the prospect of being surrounded by flirting girls closer to his thirteen-year-old daughter's age than his own any more pleasant, but at least no one was going to force him to marry one at random based on how much land her father controlled.

"And as for Belle, it might be best to prepare her for this before you arrive, but you and I both know many will assume she is your natural daughter despite the lack of resemblance. Noble fathers do occasionally take their illegitimate children as their wards or sponsor them in some other way."

They'd discussed this before. "You're right, I should warn Belle so that she isn't surprised if someone does insinuate anything. I doubt it would upset her too much if people thought so, but still, she should be ready."

Jacques nodded. "Try not to fret too much about the marriage. You'll know when you've met someone who has qualities you'd look for in a wife. Introduce them to Belle; as we've happily learned, she is a fine judge of character. And after all…" He trailed off, and gave the prince a smile that was almost wicked, "…soon it will be Belle attracting all the suitors and having her pick from among them. You should enjoy this opportunity to be the center of attention while it lasts."

The prince blanched, and glared. "Don't bring that up again in my hearing until she's at least sixteen. No, better, until she's sixty. That's an order."

"Of course, Master." The prince could still hear the laughter in the steward's voice.

-0-0-0-

Dear Marc,

You asked me to write to you once we'd arrived and settled in at court so that you could know what direction to send any future correspondence. Well, here we are. The journey was far more tedious then going to visit your family home. Fortunately the weather was fine, until the last day. We arrived in a light drizzle and therefore didn't get to see much of the palace or its gardens. I was disappointed, but since we are going to be here for four months I'm certain I will have plenty of time to explore.

To my relief, I won't be invited to most of the evening balls or late entertainment the court supposedly so enjoys. That must wait until I've had my formal debut in society. The daytime social schedule is dizzying enough. For some reason it is considered a privilege to witness the Queen rise from her bed and get dressed by her ladies. Your illustrious mother Duchess de Guise has managed to get me a place to view this august ceremony a few times while we're here. She is very proud of her accomplishment; I managed (I think) to conceal my incredulous reaction when she announced her achievement. This makes me glad that I don't spend the entirety of my time here and eventually we will be allowed to escape back home where there aren't rituals for everything. Jacques prepared me very well and I don't feel too out of place, but the whole thing makes me very grateful I was not born to be the Queen! She gives up a great deal of privacy just to have the privilege of people bowing to her.

The Duchess de Guise is giving a dinner party tomorrow evening to celebrate our arrival. Most of those there will be Papa's more distant relatives. Your mother assures me that there will be some children my age there as well, so I won't be the only child in a sea of adults.

I'll write again and tell you all about my first court party. With a pinch of fortune I'll manage just fine.

Yours,

Belle

-0-0-0-

"You look lovely, Belle," said the prince as they left their rooms arm in arm for their first dinner party at court.

"Thank you, Papa," returned Belle. She brushed some invisible dust from the skirt of her blue gown. "Madame Santine said it was best to make a good first impression and then everything else should be easier. How did you manage without Jacques?"

"It was odd, though he sent Paul as my valet in his place because his standards are just as exacting. It took the same amount of time to get ready had I been in Jacques's care." He glanced down and smiled affectionately. "Have you grown taller again when my back was turned? I may have to officially order you to stop that if this trend continues."

Where once Belle had been tiny and waiflike, barely coming up to the base of his ribcage, now the top of her head was nearly even with his shoulders and he was taller than the average man. She had a natural dancer's grace and carriage, so even in the midst of her spurts of growth she never appeared gawky. Jacques was right, the prince thought with resignation and alarm. She would have her pick of suitors when the time came. But for now, she was still his little girl, no matter how tall she grew.

Belle smiled, unaware of his musings. "I think it might be the heeled slippers," she said. "I don't often wear them at home. I hope I don't turn an ankle."

"You'll be fine. Come, we'll get through this together, as we always do." Head high and chins even with the floor, they walked into the drawing room.

Duchess Elisabeth de Guise came sweeping over immediately, looking stately as always. The prince kissed her cheek; Belle curtseyed.

"Welcome," she said warmly. The prince glanced around. The Duke de Guise was deep in conversation in one corner of the room with several other older men. Good. There was only so much of his aunt's status-conscious husband the prince could tolerate. His other aunt and uncle, the Duke and Duchess d'Angoulême, came drifting over to greet their nephew and his ward. They received Belle with pleasure and remarked on how tall and lovely she'd grown since they had seen her last. The Duchess d'Angoulême took Belle's arm and led her to another corner to introduce her to the other young people gathered there. To the prince's eye, they ranged between ages ten and sixteen. Fortunately his cousin Lady Louise de Guise was not here at court with her parents, or there might have been trouble. Louise disliked Belle and would likely have relished the chance to turn the young people of the court against her. Unfortunately no Louise also meant no Marc, Marguerite or Clothlide, the Guise children with whom Belle did get along. Oh well. He knew Belle perfectly capable of comporting herself admirably and he was fairly certain—at least he hoped—that there would be no one as nasty as Louise in the group.

Aunt Elisabeth threaded her arm through his and began steering him around the room to various groups of people. Some of them the prince remembered vaguely from before the curse, though it had been over a decade since he'd last seen them. He paid especially close attention to the women of marriageable age, knowing that among them were likely the ones his aunt had picked out as potential brides. She'd want to know his opinion of them, however hastily formed, later.

Two of them stood out, at least in his mind. The first was a stunning blonde, Lady Veronique de Guerre. She was older than the general run of never-marrieds—he guessed she was probably twenty-four or twenty-five—though not yet old enough to be considered a spinster. The prince had actually had to shake himself before he was caught staring slack-jawed as she dipped into a graceful curtsy. This had to be the most flawless woman he'd ever seen. Her azure eyes sparkled with mischief and her luscious red mouth quirked ever so slightly when she met his eyes. A small mole accented the corner of her mouth when she smiled.

 _A beauty, and she knows it_ , he thought.

"A pleasure, your highness," she murmured. He kissed her hand and noted that she kept her hand in his just a second longer than was proper.

He had to resist the urge to drop that hand like an overwhelmed schoolboy. He knew what she was doing, but even knowing didn't keep it from affecting him. He didn't remember ever meeting such a masterful flirt before the curse. And yet, even knowing that she was probably only flirting with him because he was the best catch at court, he couldn't help but be intrigued. Why was a beauty and a charmer like this one still single? Since she was new to court, perhaps she had waited until this visit to snare a husband. He determined that he would try to find out as much about her as he could from his aunts. As subtly as possible, so they wouldn't assume immediately that she was his choice. From the way the Duchess was smiling broadly at him, he could tell that Lady Veronique was almost certainly one of the candidates his aunt intended to endorse.

The other woman who caught his interest was one of the last he was introduced to. She stood in a group, but somehow she was visibly not a part of it, distant in some undefinable way. She was a beat behind all the others to smile or react, though her dark eyes darted around constantly, picking up everything that was going on.

When it was her turn for introductions, she curtsied and allowed the prince to kiss her hand politely. She smiled tentatively, but said nothing.

"Countess Anna de la Verre, widow of the late Count de la Verre," said Aunt Elisabeth. She glanced over at the corner where the young people stood. "I believe Mademoiselle DuPont is talking to her two daughters."

The prince also glanced over to see Belle happily conversing with two girls of about ten and fifteen, but his eyes were drawn back to Countess Anna. She stood out from the group in more ways than one. While not radiant like Lady Veronique and perhaps ten years older, she was still lovely in a quieter way. If he had to guess from her olive skin tone and shining mahogany hair, she was from the south of France or perhaps had Italian or Spanish blood.

He would have liked to say more to her, but his aunt put an arm through his and almost forcibly dragged him away.

"Poor soul," she said confidentially. "Her husband was killed a few years ago in a tragic accident. Their carriage was passing a wagon filled with gunpowder supplies for the army. A stray spark ignited the powder, and, well, you can imagine the result on a crowded street. Many more besides the count were killed or injured that day. The daughters were at home, thank the lord. Countess Anna survived by some miracle, but she lost most of her hearing, and she rarely speaks. I only invited her because her husband was the Duke's half-brother and I want her to know we haven't forgotten her entirely."

The prince glanced over his shoulder to find Countess Anna watching them retreat. The hurt and resignation on her face were plain as day, but no one else seemed to notice. She must know the prince and the Duchess were discussing her. When she noticed him looking back, she smoothed her face into a stoic mask. Of course she'd be used to people openly talking about her, knowing she couldn't hear them. How utterly humiliating. How very isolating.

He knew a thing or two about isolation.

Almost as soon as the introductions were finished, dinner was announced. The prince saw Lady Veronique making a beeline for him out of the corner of his eye. Determined not to be corralled so easily, he slipped away from his aunt while she was distracted talking to her maître d' and made his way back to Countess Anna. He managed to do it in such a way that no one seemed to notice where he was going until he reached her. She blinked at him, startled.

He bowed and held out an arm. "Would you do me the honor of allowing me to escort you to dinner?" he asked. Even knowing she couldn't hear a word, courtesies still must be observed. Besides, his intent was clear enough.

An abrupt silence fell around them as people registered what had happened. The prince remained patiently in place, though his neck burned from all of the people staring.

Countess Anna looked from his arm, to his face, and back again. He imagined she was looking for traces of mockery or pity. He saw her bite her lower lip in indecision, just subtly. Then she seemed to come to a conclusion. She squared her shoulders and took the offered arm.

Conversation started again all over the room, a bit too loudly, as if to make up for the silence. The prince noted in their corner the elder of Countess Anna's daughters whisper something in Belle's ear. Belle smiled and nodded. Then the boys of the group began asking their chosen partners in to dinner. Belle wound up with a boy who was probably close to her own age, but she stood half a head taller. Despite the somewhat comical picture they made, to the prince's relief both of the pair behaved with dignity as they made their way towards the back of the line of people heading into the dining room. As the youngest and lowest in rank, the children would make up the rear of the party.

As the highest in rank and the guest of honor, the prince and his chosen partner were first after their hosts the Duke and Duchess de Guise. They were also seated next to each other. The Duchess shot her nephew a puzzled look at his choice of partners, but she shrugged, accepting it.

The silence between them during dinner should have been awkward, but the prince found that it was not. He had been dreading being stuck with a nervous chatterbox and instead Countess Anna ate in dignified quiet. He watched her face from time to time and while he could tell his aunt had been telling the truth that she couldn't hear much—she barely reacted when someone dropped a serving spoon with a loud clatter further down the table—he began to suspect that she might be reading lips. He himself was very well practiced at reading facial expressions thanks to ten years of being stuck alone in a castle with a mute Jacques, and he thought he could occasionally see her react to ebbs and flows in the conversation when she was looking directly at the speakers even though she strove to appear indifferent and aloof. He didn't try to engage her much in conversation, suspecting he might not get far if she wanted to keep her lip-reading ability to herself. Instead he divided his time when not subtly observing his dinner partner between his food, conversing with the other diners around them, and keeping an eye on Belle, who was all the way at the other end of the table. As far as he could tell, she was doing both himself and Jacques proud.

Belle was actually excited as they walked back to their own suite of rooms, chattering about the young people she had met and how friendly they were. She was about as animated as the prince had ever seen her. He was happy to let her talk; while he paid attention with half an ear, his mind kept wandering back to the two women he'd met that evening and his plans on how to find out more about them without anyone getting any premature ideas.

-0-0-0-

Dear Marc,

We've survived our first week at court quite well. I might even say spectacularly. The young people here are much friendlier than I anticipated during my long hours of boredom in the carriage, though perhaps my expectations were tainted somewhat by my first introduction to the behavior of noblewomen being that of your sister Louise. I do hope she, Marguerite and Clothilde are getting along at the special school for young ladies your mother sent them to this year. At least they're away from the terrifying Master le Grand! Perhaps Clothilde will finally make some progress with her minuet without him making her nervous.

I have made the particular acquaintance of Lady Amalia and Lady Carolina de la Verre, daughters of Countess de la Verre and the late, lamented Count. Such a horrible accident! I imagine you heard about it when it happened a few years ago; apparently the court talked of nothing else for a month, which given how quickly topics come and go with the court gossips is quite a feat. Having lost my own mother when I was five, I can sympathize with how they must have felt. But they are both extremely pleasant and it turns out we enjoy many of the same pursuits. We have exchanged several visits in the past week where we have discussed our favorite books among other topics. We have also strolled together in the garden with several other of the young people of the court. It turns out Carolina has an unladylike but passionate interest in insects. The mere sight of a butterfly or a grasshopper sends her into raptures. Even the tiny ants do not escape her notice, and she forbids us from crushing any in her sight. We all of course indulge her, as she is one of the sweetest girls you could ever hope to meet.

Amalia, the elder, is fifteen and already anticipating her debut. She told me she knows there is not much money since the estate is still paying off some of her father's lingering debts, but she does love fine cloth and sparkling jewelry. She is hoping that perhaps some money can be found for new lace for her best dress, at least. The others tend to go to her with questions about what colors look best on them and so on; she is considered to have quite the eye for fashion. It is such a shame she won't look as magnificent as she could when she makes her formal entry into society.

I suspected based on some things Madame Santine and a few of the other servants said when they thought I wasn't listening that Papa has been told by his aunts that he is to find a wife while we are at court. I admit only to you, dear friend, some cowardice in being too afraid to ask him directly if this was true. I couldn't picture Papa taking a wife. It's just been the two of us (and Jacques and the other servants of course) for the last three years and while I understand the practical reasons it's been a very odd concept to wrap my mind around, that someone else might soon join our family. In any case, I'm glad to have been somewhat prepared because otherwise I might have found the amount of marriageable women vying to spend time with Papa somewhat confusing. As it is, I think I'd be amused by the proceedings if it weren't the herald of momentous changes in our lives at home.

After a week, if my powers of observation have not failed me, two candidates for the position have emerged. One, Lady de Guerre, is very pretty. She is also quite skilled at being in just the right place at the right time to catch attention. She does seem to make Papa laugh a good deal, which I cannot fault, but I have noticed that he does not deliberately seek her out when they are at social functions together. She attaches herself to him if the opportunity to do so arises, and he does not object or seem to find her distasteful. Beyond that it is difficult to make out much of her character. She is always smiling and is unfailingly polite. Your mother does seem to approve of her, so that is a mark in her favor.

The other candidate is, coincidentally, Countess de la Verre, the mother of my two new friends. She lost most of her hearing in the accident that took her husband, and this makes Papa's choice of her, at least in the eyes of those who don't know him, surprising. Unlike Lady de Guerre, despite her handicap the Countess is easy to get to know once you meet her face-to-face. She is kind and gentle and extremely patient. From my visits with them, I have discovered that the Countess and her daughters have developed a language of a sort using their hands and their expressions. They are teaching me and I hope to have at least some of it mastered by the end of our visit. Papa and the Countess seem not to need it, at least for now. He makes a point of spending time with her every time they are at the same function and as far as I can tell they have little trouble communicating. Amalia whispered to me this morning out of the other girls' hearing that she thinks her mother might be smitten with Papa.

I admit, the idea of Countess de la Verre, Amalia and Carolina joining our family makes me feel very differently about Papa possibly getting married. I know Papa loves me dearly and that would never change, but I wouldn't mind sharing him if it meant the Countess would be a mother and Amalia and Carolina sisters. I've never had a sister. Perhaps you can give me some foresight (or forewarning) on what it's like since you have three?

Yours,

Belle

-0-0-0-

After a month's acquaintance, the prince was no closer to solving the mystery that was Lady Veronique. She left him in no doubt as to her intentions and continued to flirt with almost extra-human dexterity, yet she never, ever let him see more than a smile or hear general pleasantries. She never wanted to talk about her interests or even her dislikes. If he had only wanted a wife for the typical court marriage of a beautiful woman who could host the perfect party, carry on unexceptional conversation with anyone, and bear his children, all while they led completely separate lives, she would have been the unquestioned choice. As it was, Aunt Elisabeth was already prodding him on why he was hesitating to propose.

Aunt Marie-Charlotte was slightly more subtle. She said little when her sister sang Lady Veronique's praises and made it obvious in quieter ways which candidate she preferred. She'd managed to put together a few more intimate gatherings for 'family only' and contrived to invite Countess Anna and her daughters, ostensibly as companions for Belle; the excuse worked because the Countess was technically the Duke de Guise's sister-in-law. Belle and the de la Verre girls had become fast friends, and it was a little startling to see his usually reserved daughter chatter and giggle like any other girl of thirteen.

The prince still wasn't entirely sure what it was about Countess Anna that kept drawing him back. In the years before the curse, he had certainly preferred to spend time with women like Lady Veronique, albeit younger versions. He had enjoyed the witty flirtation and the sweet nothings whispered in dark corridors. But he was a vastly different man now. He recognized those things for what they were: meaningless, at least when it came to anything that mattered. Not one of his dalliances back then would have had anything to do with the Beast, even had they known he was still Prince Louis-Michel de Bourbon inside.

Countess Anna was just so…restful to be around. In the constant uproar and motion that was life at court, she seemed to carry her own bubble of calm around her like a cloak. At first she still seemed suspicious of his motives but after the first few times he sought her out at dinners and parties she relaxed and started to let him see more of her personality behind the careful mask. To him, her face was as expressive and easy to read as Jacques's had once been during the curse. He had little trouble parsing out what she wanted to say, to her very great surprise at the beginning. She also could carry on conversations if needed, though she preferred to do so in very quiet settings. When he asked her straight out if she read lips during a stroll in the garden organized by Marie-Charlotte, she laughed.

"Yes. I was sure no one noticed, but even someone who cannot hear needs advantages at court."

"Especially someone who can't hear, I should think."

She nodded. "My daughters and I have developed our own way of talking, so that we can speak even in crowds. The girls are teaching Belle."

This surprised him, but thinking about it, it was very in-character for his daughter. She was a sponge for any new learning she could absorb. He glanced over at the trio. As was often the case these days, they had their heads together. Carolina was pointing at something on the ground.

"Thick as thieves, the three of them," he remarked.

"Yes. My daughters adore your ward, as do most of the younger set here. She is bright and charming. No one would suspect she was not born a noble girl. She studied his face. How did you come to meet her?"

He understood the implied question, and also knew he couldn't tell anywhere close to the full story. "She isn't mine by blood, though heaven knows there are enough days I wish I could claim the privilege." He gave a much-edited version of their history, leaving out any mention of the curse. He ended with Monsieur DuPont's sentence to be sold to the Caribbean, leaving Belle without a guardian and thus free to be adopted by him, the prince.

Countess Anna shook her head sadly, observing happy, healthy Belle laughing with her daughters. "It amazes me she trusted anyone again, knowing such constant cruelty by her own father."

"Belle is…extraordinary. She saved me from myself, in more ways than one. I was…very different before I met her. She changed everything when she came to live with us."

Countess Anna studied his face, brows creased. "It is an interesting kind of man to admit he owes his life to his daughter."

Neither of them said anything for awhile. But it was after that exchange that she truly relaxed around him. She seemed to have decided to trust that his motives in spending time with her were honest and he was not toying with her for pernicious reasons. The prince wondered if her distrust stemmed from personal experience, and had to throttle down the thought that he'd challenge whoever had mistreated her like that to a duel.

There was a big midsummer ball coming up, and by all accounts from previous years it would likely last until the wee hours of the morning. Belle and the de la Verre daughters were not invited, but all of the adults were going. For her part, Belle seemed to be relieved not to be attending—while she was good at it, dancing was not her most favorite activity and the thought of doing so all night was one that she did not relish. She reported that Amalia, the elder de la Verre girl who was nearing her debut, was disappointed not to be allowed to go, but her mother had determined that she was not ready for the things she might see at such a party.

The prince had mixed feelings about his own attendance. It would certainly be an opportunity to spend more time with both Lady Veronique and Countess Anna in a different setting. Perhaps then he might be able to start sorting out how he felt about both of them. He liked Countess Anna a great deal, to be sure, but Lady Veronique simply intrigued him in a fundamental way he couldn't ignore. He wished Jacques was here to talk things over, but the steward was a month of bumpy roads away. Jacques had advised him to ask Belle regarding his choices for a wife, but the prince wasn't sure how to begin such a conversation. He knew Belle had to have figured out what was going on, but if he was honest with himself he was somewhat embarrassed he hadn't talked to her about it beforehand since his choice would impact her as well. He'd been so wrapped up in his own worries he hadn't even thought to prepare her, and now he was ashamed to broach the subject.

In the meantime, there was the ball. Lady Veronique had easily gotten him to promise a few dances to her. He hadn't asked Countess Anna, fearing that she would tell him she did not dance due to her hearing loss and that his asking would embarrass her.

When the night of the ball arrived, Belle sat in a chair and watched the valet, Paul, put the finishing touches on his Master's appearance. She had a book in her hand, but she'd put a finger in it to mark her place and was cheerfully watching her Papa fidget under Paul's ministrations. At last the valet was satisfied.

"You look absolutely perfect," said Belle. She stood up and stretched on tiptoes to kiss his cheek. "I have the most wonderful, handsome father in the world. No one could possibly resist if you asked her to dance."

"Belle…" he started.

She'd already headed for the door, but she paused and turned back over her shoulder. "I know. We can talk about it later—when you aren't exhausted from dancing half the night."

"Thank you. I promise we'll talk the moment I can find the time after the ball." _I owe you an apology,_ was on his lips, but he had a sense Belle already knew that. She blew him a kiss as she vanished around the corner.

"Goodnight, Belle."

"Goodnight, Papa. Good luck!"

The prince shook his head after her. "What did I ever do to deserve her?" he asked Paul. Paul shrugged dramatically. "As much as any of us did, Master. She's just…Belle. Her mother knew what she was doing to name her 'Beauty.'"

"Too right." The prince squared his shoulders and left the suite for the ball.

He was becoming accustomed to the ripples of interest his entrances tended to cause at the larger social events at court. He knew it was because of his rank and the mystery of why he'd locked himself away in the country for ten years only to just as abruptly re-emerge, but in the back of his mind there was always a flash of panic that the crowd saw the Beast when they looked at him. It was difficult to shake so many years of paranoia about being seen; after all, he'd been trapped by the curse for almost a third of his life. How very different his life would be now had the spell never happened!

His musings were interrupted by the arrival of Lady Veronique. She curtsied neatly and smiled, showing off the mole on her cheek. "The music is about to begin, your Highness. You did promise me a dance."

"That I did. Shall we?" he offered her an arm, which she took.

Like everything else she did, Lady Veronique danced with ease and grace and revealed nothing about herself. Her dancing had precision and she smiled throughout, but it was impossible to tell whether she was actually enjoying herself at all because the smile was so carefully practiced. There was no uncertainty or strain, true, but no passion to speak of, either.

When they had finished, he led her to the refreshment table. "Do you enjoy dancing, Lady Veronique?" he asked.

"Who doesn't?" she replied with a wave of one hand and a shrug. The prince waited to see if she would say more, but she busied herself collecting dainties on a plate and it appeared the subject was dropped. Another man came to converse with Veronique and ask her to dance, and the prince slipped away. She'd find him again when she wanted another dance—she had that uncanny ability to find him in any room no matter how crowded.

In drifting around the room towards his aunts and uncles he spotted Countess Anna in a corner. He wove towards her. In anticipation of her being able to hear even less than usual, he had taken Belle's unsolicited but nonetheless appreciated suggestion and brought along a piece of slate and bit of chalk tucked into his jacket. As Belle had once used them to communicate with Jacques and the other servants cursed into silence, he could use it to talk with the Countess.

She looked puzzled when he pulled slate and chalk out but her expression cleared when he began to write.

 _Are you enjoying yourself?_

 _As much as I ever enjoy these things,_ she responded with a shrug. She erased what she'd written, and added _Amalia always asks me to remember my favorite gowns so that I can describe them to her later. That's usually how I keep myself amused until I can slip away._

 _Did you used to like to dance? Before the accident?_

It was the first time he'd ever asked her anything so personal. She hesitated for a long moment, dark eyes anxiously searching his face, then nodded.

His heart thumped painfully in one big bound. He knew exactly how she felt. Dancing had been one of his favorite pastimes before the curse. His beastly shape and self-imposed isolation had meant until Belle started getting lessons from Jacques, he hadn't danced in nearly a decade. After the curse, it had taken a long time and a great deal of dedicated practice before he regained his old skill. He knew what it was to face the prospect of never doing something you loved again because of circumstances beyond your control.

He held out an arm quickly, before he could talk himself out of it. "Come on. Let's dance the next one."

"Wha…" Her sound of surprise slipped from her apparently without her noticing. As on the night they met, she looked from his arm to his face and back several times. He could tell she was on the verge of refusing.

"Please. Dance with me?"

Her eyes wavered again, but then she steeled herself and took his arm. The floor was crowded enough that for once a silence did not precede their entrance. The prince began to carefully lead the Countess through the steps.

She was extremely hesitant at first, and he could feel her barely setting her weight fully on her feet, mincing around and clearly terrified of mis-stepping. As the music picked up speed the prince wondered unhappily if he'd made a mistake asking her. But as they approached the midway point, realization clicked behind her eyes, something he'd seen happen to Belle many times over the years as she struggled to master complicated steps. Now he could tell she'd found her rhythm. She stepped and even twirled with confidence. He could tell that while she might be out of practice, she was a superb dancer. Some things the body remembered no matter how long it had been.

The difference between dancing with her and with Lady Veronique was striking. Discounting differences in skill level, Countess Anna put herself into the dance. Her enjoyment was plain in her face and in the way she moved. It was much easier to relax into the movements himself when his partner was obviously taking pleasure in dancing with him. It was like dancing with a living woman as opposed to a porcelain marionette.

When the dance was over, the prince escorted Countess Anna to a chair to catch her breath and then went to fetch her some spiced wine. His aunt Marie-Charlotte caught his eye and winked as her husband led her out for the next dance. He smiled back.

The Countess accepted the drink gratefully and took a few ladylike sips before setting the cup aside and taking out the slate and chalk once more.

 _Thank you. From the bottom of my heart. I never realized how much I missed it._

 _You're welcome._

They sat side-by-side, sipped their wine and watched the dancers on the floor and the other groups of people milling around. Lady Veronique had no shortage of different partners, but the prince noticed her eyes kept circling over towards himself and the Countess. At some point when he wasn't paying attention, Countess Anna's head drifted down to rest on his shoulder. When he did notice, he found to his own surprise that he didn't mind having it there. Anyone else but for Belle, he would have shrugged off the contact. But this felt strangely comfortable, and right.

He closed his eyes and leaned back as realization struck him. He was falling in love. He'd never experienced it, but there could be no other reason as to why he felt this way when she was near-a combination of terrified and exhilarated all at once.

It was an odd thing to realize at this moment, and he felt foolish for not recognizing it earlier. He could almost hear Jacques chuckling at him and saying "Of course you are, Master," had he been here and the prince brought this latest development to him. Observant, clever Belle almost certainly had her suspicions, looking back on some of the things she'd said and done in the last few weeks that now made sense.

He opened his eyes again, and to his surprise found himself looking at Belle's face, as if thinking of her had made her appear. She was peering down from one of the minstrel's galleries that lined the room, excitedly taking everything in. Countess Anna's daughter Amalia was beside her.

The prince couldn't keep in a sigh that rolled into a growl. He wasn't sure whether to be outraged or amused. Belle knew how he felt about her sneaking around, watching things that weren't meant for her eyes. She knew—as did the Countess's daughter—that they hadn't been invited to this ball for a reason. Yet it seemed their curiosity had gotten the better of them.

Countess Anna felt his sigh and looked at him. He flicked his eyes at the two girls above them. She glanced up, and saw what he'd seen. Her face mirrored his own feelings from a few moments before: frustration warring with an urge to laugh.

"That girl," she mouthed, shaking her head.

The prince took the slate and wrote, _Shall we go deal with our errant daughters?_

She nodded. Casually, as if they were going to join the group where his aunts and uncles stood conversing near the door, they rose and walked over. The prince kissed Aunt Elisabeth on the cheek and murmured, "Something has come up that we need to take care of. We may be back later."

"So you noticed them?" Elisabeth said. She chuckled at his surprise. "I suppose it's fortunate it didn't take you until dawn. Try not to be too harsh on them, dear nephew. Marie-Charlotte and I used to do the same thing at their age."

"I'll keep it in mind," he grumbled, though his aunt's words did help blunt some of his initial anger. Arm in arm, he and Countess Anna slipped from the room. He followed her through the darkened corridors, as she knew them far better than he. A narrow staircase later and they had emerged onto the balcony. Belle and Amalia were kneeling with their backs to them, peering through the wooden railing's slats.

The prince cleared his throat pointedly. Both girls whirled and upon seeing their parents, immediately looked shamefaced.

"So." The prince crossed his arms. "I suppose this is the part where I allow you some defense."

"It was my idea!" Amalia jumped in immediately. "Don't be angry with Belle, your Highness! I persuaded her to come with me."

Again the prince felt some amusement rising unbidden, but he pushed it down and did not allow his face to twitch. "As I see it, you're both culpable. You know how I feel about this kind of thing, Belle. I expected better of you."

"I'm sorry, Papa. I didn't mean any harm." Belle looked at the floor.

"I know, but you can't just let your curiosity take you wherever it feels like. I also know you understand the concept of consequences. Back to our rooms, _now_." Herding the girls in front of them like lost sheep, the two adults walked side-by-side until they parted to go to their own suites of rooms. The prince noticed the girls sent each other looks of solidarity as they went their separate ways.

Once the door was closed behind them, the prince waited a moment before speaking. Belle shifted uncomfortably.

"Belle, I'm disappointed in you. I thought by now you'd be old enough to know better than to go sneaking around."

"I'm truly sorry, Papa. I promise I won't sneak in to watch any more parties until my debut."

The prince noted with some pride that she did not attempt to blame Amalia for talking her into it, though he was reasonably certain that the older girl had told the truth when she said that it was her idea. Belle took full responsibility for her decision to go along.

"Very well. I see you're well aware of what you did wrong. As punishment, you'll stay here tomorrow and help me with the accounts from all of the business on behalf of the province I've been taking care of while we've been in the capitol. No seeing Amalia and Carolina, or any of your other friends."

"Yes, Papa. But what about—"

"Countess de la Verre will punish Lady Amalia as she sees fit. It's not my place to interfere in how she disciplines her children, nor your place to question it. Do you understand?"

Belle looked at the floor. "Yes, Papa."

"If you behave the rest of tonight and tomorrow assist me with whatever I need, then we'll speak no more of this."

"Thank you, Papa."

"Come here, let me give you a kiss and then go on to bed. I should get back to the party."

Belle came forward, chastened but willing, to receive a kiss on the cheek. She gave him an unasked-for squeeze around the waist, then went through the door to her set of rooms. The prince was fairly confident this time that she would stay there.

He shook his head after her. He adored Belle and knew that he was adored in return, but sometimes being a father to a girl who was increasingly becoming a young woman with a mind of her own was equally as difficult as being a prince. It was a challenge he embraced gladly, however, knowing what the alternative would have been had Belle not come into his life.

And speaking of challenges...now he had to figure out how to honorably disengage from further courtship of Lady Veronique. And, even more difficult, to see if Countess Anna's heart was inclined in his favor.

-0-0-0-

Dear Marc,

I've managed to get a few moments to myself to write this letter. Amalia persuaded me to take a look at the Midsummer Ball last night. What a mistake that was! We were caught by our parents, and I've been stuck helping Papa with ledgers and numbers all day as a result. As if to taunt me, the weather is absolutely pristine today but all I can see is glimpses out the window. I know I got off lightly—I expected a far harsher sentence given that the crime was a behavior Papa absolutely abhors—but this feels like punishment enough.

What I did see of the ball was lovely, and it does make me look slightly more favorably on my debut. I can see what Amalia waxes on about, though I still cannot muster the excitement she does when she talks about entering society as a woman ready to marry. I know you promised me a dance at my first ball, which does help as it gives me something concrete to look forward to when that august day arrives, but the idea of being of marriageable age and having suitors seems somewhat daunting. I fear a marriage such as my mother and father had—one that is not of equals, but of shackles. I know few men are as cruel and selfish as Gaston DuPont, but it still gives me pause when I think of promising my life, security and loyalty to someone. It would have to be truly the right person to persuade me to matrimony.

In the meantime, I believe Papa has turned a corner in the matter of his own future happiness. He apologized to me for not talking about his plans to seek a wife while we were at court, and not long afterwards asked my opinion of Countess de la Verre. Of course I could not say enough good about her. I take this as an extremely promising sign.

Thank you for the encouraging words about what it is like to have sisters. I hope your advice will come in useful sooner rather than later.

Papa is calling me again so I must conclude.

Yours,

Belle

-0-0-0-

For the first time since meeting her, the prince actually saw what he believed was a genuine reaction out of Lady Veronique. For a moment she was stunned, and then he saw a flash of anger. Her lips pursed and she dragged in a breath.

"Well," she finally said. "I hope you enjoyed making a fool out of me."

"In what way did I make a fool out of you, Lady Veronique? I promised you nothing, only spent time with you when you sought me out."

"But you didn't discourage me as you did the others! And Duchess de Guise said—"

"My aunt does not speak for me. But I apologize if you feel that attempting to get to know you was misleading as to my intentions," he said, his temper igniting slightly. "It is hardly my fault that I received nothing in return for my efforts!"

"Nothing? We talked, we danced…what more could I have given you?"

"And therein lies the problem," said the prince. "Yes, we did those things, but in doing so you managed to conceal everything but the barest details about yourself. We spoke of nothing of import, not even something as inconsequential as your favorite color. Why on earth would I consider marrying a woman who is yes, entirely beautiful, but about whom I know nothing, nor had any metric by which to gauge her feelings? For all I knew from your behavior, you might have secretly detested me and been merely angling for a title like all the rest!"

He'd gone too far, he could tell immediately. Now she was hurt as well as angry. How odd to realize now that she had felt something more than avarice for his wealth and name.

"You insult me, your Highness, by presuming any woman who pursued you is only interested in the honor of being on _your_ arm. You have no idea what it's like to be a woman whose only chance of security and comfort in life is to marry a wealthy man. It's hardly merely greed that drives any of us." She crossed her arms, tears glittering at the corners of her eyes.

She'd taken him aback. This angle of consideration had never occurred to him. Now he felt a complete cad. He could only stare at her, mouth slightly open.

"Well." She drew herself up. "I hope you'll be happy with your cursed deaf-mute and your little bastard. I wish you joy of them." She swept from the room, leaving him as paralyzed as if she'd slapped him.

Any sympathy he'd felt for her vanished. While he acknowledged that he'd entirely misjudged her motives, the double-barbed parting insult to both Countess Anna and Belle infuriated him. This one conversation had given him more on her real feelings and character than he'd learned in over a month of acquaintance, and it was almost a relief to have such insight at last.

As his mind turned back over it, he realized his heart had jumped slightly at the word 'cursed.' It might mean nothing, but it was still an odd choice of words to refer to Countess Anna. It was probably just bile. Still, it niggled at him.

It was difficult to get even a remotely private audience with the Countess, and while he tried for several days he was unsuccessful in doing more than seeing her in a group setting. Eventually he enlisted Duchess Marie-Charlotte. With her help he was able to seek the relative seclusion of a bench under a willow tree with the Countess while the rest of the garden party attendees, while technically still visible to make certain they weren't doing anything inappropriate, couldn't know what they were discussing. He'd brought along the slate and chalk again.

Countess Anna wrung her hands when he described what Lady Veronique had said, though her face remained calm.

 _I've been called worse,_ she wrote.

 _But 'cursed'?_

She hesitated, studying his face very closely. At length, she wrote, _I am going to tell you the complete truth. You may laugh at me as a madwoman afterwards, but something tells me you might understand._ She paused again, erased, and began.

 _I am not cursed. The loss of my hearing did indeed originate in the explosion that killed my husband and many others. However, it was not a stray spark igniting gunpowder. My husband was…_ here she stopped to think of the right words… _unwise in his business dealings. I did not find out until after his death that he had cheated many, many people and that was why we lived so well. I've spent the years since his death paying off the debts that he owed, one penny at a time. Some of those he cheated were…less than human. Or perhaps more is the right word. I've never been sure._

The prince sucked in his breath. "Enchanters?"

 _Powerful sprites. Forest gods and goddesses. Fire spirits. Things out of nightmares. When they came to take revenge and ended up fighting one another to determine who would have the honor of killing him, the result was monstrous. They did not care if innocents died with the one guilty man. There was indeed an explosion that day which ruined my hearing, but it was not of human making._ She drew a shuddering lungful of air. _I suppose I was fortunate to have survived, if only for the sake of our daughters, but I've lived with the burden of this terrible secret ever since, knowing no one would ever believe me if I told what really happened that day. There have been all sorts of gossip and rumors flying around about the mysterious nature of the so-called accident, which I can only assume is how one version of the story evolved into me being the cursed one. And perhaps I am, in a way, though I've striven to make things right._

Without thinking he pulled her into an embrace. She did not cry—she had too much dignity and self-control, even now—but she allowed him to console her. When she finally did pull back anxiously to look at him, her face lit up when she saw his expression.

"You…believe me?" she whispered, half in words and half in gestures.

He nodded. "Every word." He told her his whole story: of the Enchantress and her curse, of the ten years as a monster with a silent, invisible household, all because of one prideful mistake. Of indenturing Belle as a last desperate measure, only to discover that she had been the looked-for solution all along.

The Countess sat silently watching his lips, hands pressed to her mouth in horror. At the end it was she who embraced him.

 _I never imagined there might be others. I thought I would have to bear this alone, for the rest of my life,_ she finally wrote. _But now it seems there are those even worse off than I. Even with very little hearing, at least I still have human shape. My life might not be what it was, but I don't have to hide._

"It isn't too difficult now that the curse is broken, at least when we're at home," he said thoughtfully. "The entire household at the castle was a part of it, so we don't ever have to pretend it never happened with each other. It was three years ago, and we're all starting to learn how to put it behind us. We're a family of a sorts, after all we've been through."

 _It sounds wonderful._

"You—and Amalia and Carolina—can be a part of it, if you like." He paused, and swallowed. "I would. And I know Belle would welcome you, too."

Her eyes narrowed. A questioning smile played across her lips and her head tilted.

"Yes, that was my not-particularly articulate way of asking you to marry me. It seems to me, at least, that we are a better match than I ever dared hope for."

She laughed. _I feel the same. I will._

He leaned forward, and she met him halfway. She was a more passionate kisser than he'd expected from her generally calm, collected demeanor. Mindful of their audience beyond the curtain of willow branches, however, they kept their kiss as short as they could bear to. They looked at each other and couldn't help breaking out in enormous smiles.

 _I suppose now we have to go back to the party and tell everyone,_ she wrote.

"One last question. This is going to sound awful, so please don't misunderstand, but...are you certain your husband is dead? He's not cursed as I was? The last thing I want to do is make you choose between us should he find redemption and return."

She shook her head vigorously, sharply. _No. He died before my eyes. It's not a sight I am ever likely to forget._

"Forgive me for bringing it up."

 _I know why you did. Just please, do not mention it again._

"I promise." He stood, and she took his outstretched hand. "Come. No more talk of darkness. Let us go tell our families the happy news that we're to be married."

Together they walked out of the shadow of the willow branches and into the sunlight.

-0-0-0-

Post Script to the above: As expected, Papa has proposed to the Countess. Words cannot express my delight in gaining such a mother and sisters. We are all very excited; I expect official news of the engagement from your mother to reach you shortly if it has not preceded this letter. She may be slightly disappointed that Papa picked your aunt Marie-Charlotte's choice over her own so any reluctance about the match you detect from her may be attributed to that. The rest of us could not be happier. I hope to be able to introduce you to her soon; you will find the language she and Amalia and Carolina have invented to be quite fascinating.

Yrs,

Belle

-0-0-0-

"Excuse me, Master."

The prince looked up to find Paul in the doorway to the room he had commandeered as a study during their stay at court. The valet had an odd expression on his face.

"Yes?"

"Lady Veronique de Guerre desires an audience."

 _Now what could she possibly want?_ the prince wondered. His engagement to Countess Anna was several days old; there was no way she could not have heard with the way court tongues were wagging. Lady Veronique had also never sought a private audience with him before.

Intrigued, the prince said, "Let her in. But keep the door open behind you."

"Yes, Master."

Lady Veronique came in. She dipped a curtsy, and for the first time the prince saw some hesitancy in her movement. Gone was the supreme air of confidence she'd always carried before.

"Thank you for seeing me, your Highness. I know you must have…mixed feelings about it."

"That is true. It is difficult to forget what you said when we last spoke. But we can certainly be civil. Should I have Paul fetch you some tea, or a glass of wine?"

"No, no. That's not necessary; I don't intend to impose on you for long. I came to…to apologize. I said some unpardonable things."

"You were angry and disappointed. And I certainly did my best to provoke you with the things I said. I grossly misjudged your motives, and I apologize for that." He bowed, one hand on his chest. "You gave me much to think about."

She seemed encouraged by this, and took a step forward. "You gave me much to think about as well. I came here to explain my behavior. I lost my father at an early age. My mother is very strict, and she expected nothing less than perfection from me. I was raised with the notion that my greatest ambition should be to ensnare a wealthy, titled man so that I could be secure for the rest of my life. From the time of my debut, no man who courted me was good enough to suit her standards until you arrived. But Mother also said revealing anything about myself until after the marriage would be a mistake, that no titled man would care to know what his future wife was like as long as she was beautiful and accomplished. I took her words to heart."

He sighed. "Unfortunately, that might have been true with another man, but not with me. My parents had the kind of marriage you just described, and we were all miserable as a result. When I began looking for a wife, I wanted a companion, not an ornament."

"I understand that now," she said. "I spent the last few weeks wondering what on earth I was doing wrong. I could tell you were interested in me, but not the way you were in Countess de la Verre. I wondered what you saw in a woman with little fortune who could not hear, and who had two daughters of her own to marry off."

"Anna let me see her heart. That was the difference."

She studied him. "I see that. While I spent weeks keeping you from finding out much about me, I did get to know you. I can see that you're happy."

"I am."

There was an awkward silence. Finally she said, "I've taken up enough of your time. I should go. I do wish you well. You've been more courteous to me than I deserved."

"That's not true," he said when she turned towards the door. "You deserve someone who will treat you with all the courtesy I've shown you, and more. I can probably count on one hand the number of people I know who would have come and apologized after saying what you said about my fiancée and my daughter. I took a great deal of bravery to do that. The person you've shown me today, any man would be proud to call his wife. You just have to give them a chance."

"Thank you." She looked back over her shoulder and smiled, giving him one more flash of that mole. "I appreciate you taking the time to see me."

She slipped out again. The prince sat down at his desk and stared at the door for several quiet, thoughtful minutes. It seemed he'd misjudged Lady Veronique yet again and he found, slightly to his own surprise, that he'd forgiven her for her bitter words. He hoped that someday she did find a man to cherish her for more than her looks and skill on the dance floor.

He shook his head and turned back to his accounting books.

-0-0-0-

Dear Marc,

I am deeply disappointed to hear you won't be able to join us for the wedding at the end of this month. What a time to set exams! Someday we'll see each other again even though at the moment the universe seems to be conspiring against it. We will at least see the rest of your brothers and sisters, as well as dear Charles and Arlette d'Angoulême. I will be sure to pass on any greetings to Marguerite and Clothilde that you'd like to send me.

I haven't seen Papa this happy in quite some time. The only one slightly apprehensive about the upcoming changes is Amalia; she isn't sure how she will like being 'shut away in the country,' as she puts it, right before her debut. The only reason I am not offended by this opinion is that I have occasionally heard your mother express the same; I suppose someone who enjoys the constant activity of court life would consider our castle terribly dull and provincial. For myself, I am already longing for the familiarity of home, the faces of our friends left behind, especially Jacques, and the opportunity to curl up in the gardens and read uninterrupted for hours on end. Our stay at court has been nothing but a constant whirlwind and there is rarely ever time to be alone. I can hardly believe we have been here two months, with two more to go until our return. And in between, all of the pomp and circumstance of the marriage of a prince to a countess. I am already being measured for my new gown, as are Amalia (to her great delight) and Carolina.

Things are likely to be so busy for the next few weeks that I won't be able to write more than a line or two until after the wedding. However, if I can request that you continue to write with your doings at school and how your exams go, please do so when you have the time. I welcome the distraction, especially coming from the world outside of court. I'll write again as soon as I am able with all of the details of the wedding you can stand and probably more.

In the meantime, I remain, your dear friend,

Belle

* * *

 _Author's Note: So here is Part 2 of the Bonus Chapter/Short Stories series, answering the question: so if the Prince didn't marry Belle because it was familial love that broke the curse rather than romantic love, then whom_ did _he marry? It would still take an extraordinary woman to capture his heart and to be someone who would compliment, rather than compete with, his relationship with Belle. A widow with daughters seemed like the perfect solution, especially if the daughters became Belle's friends rather than adversaries. Anna, Amalia and Carolina were fun to create and get to know. I also wanted a rival, but not one who would try to sabotage things and lead to a lot of rom-com cliches. She isn't a bad person, just is not the right fit, and she comes to the situation with her own backstory and perspective._

 _Blended families are not a modern phenomenon; they were common in the 18th century, but they were usually the result of untimely death rather than divorce. In Virginia there was a prominent family, the Tuckers, who I like to refer to as "the 18th century Brady Bunch." The man, St. George (a fellow law student with Thomas Jefferson, and yes, his first name is 'St. George,' not just 'George'), took as his first wife Frances Randolph, a wealthy widow who brought children to the marriage from her first husband. The pair proceeded to have several children together, and when Frances died St. George married yet another widow, Leila Carter, who also had children of her own. St. George ended up as father or stepfather to a total of ten children! He treated his stepchildren as his own, even buying his youngest stepdaughter an expensive piano for her music instruction. George Washington was a also a stepfather, and he and his wife Martha raised two of Martha's grandchildren as their own when their father (Martha's son by her first husband) died and their mother remarried. Fairy tales notwithstanding, stepparents were not universally wicked!_

 _It was fun experimenting with the letter format for Belle's perspective, and it was also an excuse to keep Marc in the story even though he isn't physically present. You can see how much Belle's vocabulary has expanded, and also that she's growing up to be more like the Belle we know from the movie now that she's almost a teenager. Some of you savvy readers out there may be able to guess what the basic plot of the next bonus chapter will be..._


	20. Bonus Chapter 3 1: Butterfly Bush

_Disclaimer: I do not own Beauty and the Beast_

 _"…and then, as the sun rose, behold! The Sultan looked upon Scheherazade and said "O my wife and the light of mine eyes, I heartily repent of the grief I have caused this kingdom through my suspicion and my unwillingness to forgive. You have finally opened my blinded heart and I realize that to have you killed would be to kill my own soul. Therefore—""_

"Belle!"

Belle sighed and slipped a bookmark between the pages. She had known the interruption was coming and what it signified, but still, she did love this part of the _Thousand and One Nights_. The part at the very end where the Sultan, softened through his beautiful and clever wife's nightly storytelling, finally expressed sorrow for his cruelty and asked for her forgiveness. Belle had come back to these tales many times over the years, but this part was one of her most favorite.

"Coming!" she called. She stood up from the stone bench, dusted herself off, and made her way back inside. She had been enjoying the first nice spring day in weeks, but today she couldn't afford to spend all afternoon lost in a book in the gardens. They had guests, due to appear soon since Jacques had just called to her.

The man in question met her at the door. "They sent a rider ahead to say they should be here within the hour, little mistress," he said. "You have some time to…freshen up, should you wish."

Belle ignored the use of the servants' childhood pet name for her. Most of them had stopped using it when she reached her majority, but a few, like Jacques, still used it as an endearment.

"Oh Jacques, I don't look that awful, do I?" she asked the steward.

He smiled. "No. You could meet them as you are right now and they would not fail to be impressed. But you do have time to change into a more formal receiving gown if you were planning on doing so."

"I hadn't decided. I suppose I'll have to at least go up and look in the mirror." Belle put a hand to her hair and felt a few stray wisps around her face that probably needed correcting. It would be easier to greet the more exacting of their guests, namely the Duchess de Guise and her daughter Louise, if she knew she looked her best.

Jacques accompanied her as they wound their way through the halls towards her room. "Are you nervous?"

Belle quirked an eyebrow at him. "No. Why would I be?"

"I know you and Lord Marc have been corresponding regularly since you met, but circumstances have intervened with you meeting in person. This will be the first time you've seen him in…"

"…over seven years," Belle finished. "But no, I'm not particularly nervous. If anything, I'm excited, as much as I am on the rare occasions I get to see Amalia these days since she married. With such dear friends, letters are just no substitute for—"

They rounded a corner and found themselves face-to-face with the man who must have ridden ahead to warn the castle of the Guise party's imminent arrival, accompanied by one of the castle's own servants. The man's traveling clothes were rumpled and sweat-streaked and he smelled of the outdoors, leather, and horse. What caught Belle's eye as he walked in front of one of the large windows lining this hallway was his disheveled reddish hair, its distinctive light color made slightly darker at the temples where it had gotten sweaty from touching his hat, and his bright green eyes.

"Marc?" she blurted without thinking.

He blinked in surprise and stopped in midstride. "I—yes?" Then his eyes went wide as he looked at her more closely. "B-Belle?" he stammered.

Belle couldn't help but stare openmouthed. When she had last seen him when he was fifteen, he had been moderately tall, and thin to the point of looking underfed. Her biggest impression of his appearance besides his hair and eye color had been a coltish boy made up of mostly elbows and knees.

Now at twenty-two, he had reached his full height, which was likely even taller than Belle's father, the yardstick by which she measured all tall men. His face was still narrow, but his body had certainly developed into a pleasing proportion with his impressive height—no longer did the word 'gangly' apply. He wasn't powerful, but she could tell through his sweat-dampened clothing that he was moderately fit, especially for a lawyer who likely spent a great deal of his time indoors.

His face was still friendly, and sharp intelligence sparkled in his green eyes. Looking at him through a woman's gaze instead of a child's, Belle thought, _He's grown up to be so handsome!_ with a slight feeling of alarm mixed with embarrassment. _This_ was her friend with whom she had carried on such a casual correspondence for years? Somehow it had never occurred to her to alter the image she had of him in her head, even knowing intellectually that years were passing and he must be growing older just as she was—until this moment, in her mind he had still looked fifteen.

He was staring at her with the same surprise. What did he see? Belle was suddenly acutely aware of the strand of loose hair trailing in front of her left eye, but she didn't dare reach up to fix it.

Jacques cleared his throat pointedly, bringing both of them out of their daze. Belle blinked and remembered to close her mouth. She spread her skirts in the briefest curtsy she could produce without wobbling.

He bowed back automatically, though he kept his eyes on her. He managed a tentative smile. "It's good to see you again, Belle. I…forgive me, but…I must say, you're stunning. You were pretty before, but now I can see why you're justly famous at court after your debut last year. I'm sorry I missed it—I know I promised you a dance."

"I…well, thank you," stammered Belle. This was not at _all_ how she'd imagined their reunion going, let alone the first things they'd say to each other. She plastered on a courtier's polite smile. "I had no idea my reputation preceded me."

He winced. "I'm sorry if I've made you uncomfortable. Mother despairs of me speaking my mind at inappropriate times. It's the prerogative of a lawyer to talk too much."

Belle felt herself relax into a real smile at this, and some of the tension between them ebbed. Now he sounded like the Marc from their letters. "I appreciate the compliment, and I'm glad you're here at last. I've been looking forward to seeing you again, though I didn't expect that it would be you riding ahead of the rest of your family. You've caught me somewhat…unprepared." Now she did tuck the errant strand of hair behind her ear.

"And I wasn't expecting to see you—or your honored parents—until after I'd had a chance to wash up and change." He plucked at a dusty sleeve. "Perhaps we can agree to a fresh start once the rest of my family arrives and pretend this meeting never happened?"

"I think so," said Belle, though privately she thought she'd never be able to get this meeting out of her head, impromptu though it might be. "Until later, then."

Once they'd performed the obligatory bow and curtsy, they headed off in opposite directions once more. Belle glanced over her shoulder once, to find him doing the same. She snapped her face forward again so he wouldn't see her flush.

"That," commented Jacques quietly when they had gotten out of earshot, "is why I asked if you were nervous to be seeing him again."

Belle glared at him. "Jacques! There's no way I could have known he'd grown so—! I never imagined—" She stopped at the look of wry amusement on the steward's face. "Why are you never surprised by anything? It's really not fair sometimes how you get to know things before the rest of us."

"Experience and observation are the currency in which I trade, dear child, as you well know. Now, let's get you ready so that you can receive the Guise family— _all_ of them, unexpectedly handsome young lawyers or no—properly."

-0-0-0-

Marc de Guise, safe in the rooms assigned to him during the stay at the de Bourbon castle, bent over the bowl of water provided for him to wash. His slightly distorted reflection stared back, cheeks still slightly flushed and green eyes unsettled.

"You're an idiot," he grumbled at himself. "All of those years of learning how to say exactly the right thing in the courtroom, and the first thing out of your mouth is 'you're stunning?' You're lucky she didn't laugh in your face!"

He sighed, and began splashing water on his face and neck to cool them and remove the dust from travel. As he dried himself with the towel provided, he tried to form some kind of plan. The problem was, his mind was still reeling from the surprise encounter with Belle. He'd been anticipating seeing her again at last for weeks, but had found himself totally unprepared to meet her coming around a corner. Which in hindsight was foolish on his part. She lived here; why wouldn't she be walking the corridors of her own castle?

She _was_ stunning. That was the part his addled brain couldn't seem to move past. He kept seeing her shining brown hair, the fact that it was ever so slightly out of place only adding to her appeal. The kindness and earnestness that practically radiated from her face, especially from her big hazel eyes. And the rest of her…she certainly wasn't a child anymore. Her light green gown had been practical and modest, and yet he still couldn't help but notice that now she was a young lady with a figure to match. He remembered her being naturally graceful, but her grace had refined even more now that she was grown into her full stature. And she was tall for a woman—he liked that. He wouldn't have to bend so far down if—

He vigorously splashed more water on his face. "Get ahold of yourself," he ordered his choppy reflection sternly. "Just because the girl you've been in love with for years turned out to be incredibly beautiful, too, is no excuse for you to lose control now."

And therein lay the rub. He had no idea how she felt about him other than her usual epithet of 'dearest friend,' but he had loved her practically since they day they met. Perhaps not in a strictly romantic sense back then, but his heart had belonged to her in one way or another nevertheless. The years of their correspondence had only deepened his feelings as he got to know her fierce intelligence, her capacity for love and acceptance, her devotion to justice, and her mild stubborn streak. She even let him see her vulnerable side in the rare times she talked about the years before she had been adopted by the prince, or when she was occasionally snubbed by nobles because by birth she was a peasant even though her upbringing after age ten had been that of a princess. Writing and hearing from her had gotten him through his most difficult times at school, and the years afterwards as he struggled to establish himself in his profession. He adored the girl he'd come to know through those letters.

Now here she was in the flesh, and the best he could come up with after all these years of friendship was a shallow remark about her appearance. As if beauty were all that mattered to him. But how exactly did one articulate to someone else that she'd been the bright point of your life for seven years, ever since she'd unwittingly broken a curse on you?

In all these years, he'd never found the right words to tell her that _he_ was the frog she'd befriended during her very first visit to the Guise household. And the longer he let it go, the harder it was to tell her. He knew that he had the perfect opportunity now that they were finally under the same roof and able to meet face-to-face. But if this problem with her mere appearance robbing him of any power of articulate speech continued, it might just have grown ten times more difficult.

Marc sighed and began to comb out his damp, tangled red hair in preparation for tying it back in its usual simple queue. At the very least he could meet her again looking decently groomed instead of sweat-streaked and grimy. Perhaps that would give him the confidence to act like a respectable lawyer instead of a stammering schoolboy with a crush.

Or worse, a frog without a voice at all.

He paused as an idea occurred to him. He'd planned to ask the Prince de Bourbon's official permission to court his ward during this visit. Marc knew Belle and her father were extremely close, and thanks to his time as a frog, he also knew the secret reason why. Perhaps the prince himself could offer some advice on broaching such a topic with his daughter. Of all people, Marc's once-cursed cousin might understand. Even if he was not likely to be happy at the idea of any man courting his cherished eldest daughter—Belle had given some innocent hints in her letters that this might be the case—perhaps he'd still feel some sympathy for Marc's position.

It was worth a try.

-0-0-0-

Belle was ready in plenty of time to greet the rest of their guests when they arrived. She'd gotten Madame Santine to help her re-dress her hair and pick out a slightly nicer gown, suitable for receiving a Duke, Duchess, their children and grandchildren. She met her father, stepmother and sisters out in the hall; it appeared they'd all finished getting ready at close to the same time.

"Oh, there you are, Belle," said the prince, kissing her cheek. "Jacques said he called you in from the garden."

"I wouldn't miss this, Papa," she answered. "Though I did run into Lord Marc not long ago—it seems he was the one who rode ahead."

"Did he? And where is he now?"

"In his rooms freshening up, I believe. One of the servants was there to show him."

"Ah, good."

As if on cue, Marc himself appeared from down the hall. He had indeed changed into clean clothes and neatened his own hair. Belle had to gulp back a sudden lump in her throat as she had another involuntary thought of how attractive he was. Being clean and presentable just made it worse.

Once he was close enough, he bowed properly to her parents. Then it was Belle's turn. For her, there was a smile and a light kiss on the hand. Belle smiled back, hoping he didn't notice how sweaty her palm suddenly was. He also kissed fifteen-year-old Carolina's hand, though not with the same familiar smile. "A pleasure to meet you," he said.

When he turned away to admire little Miranda, who was just three, Carolina nudged Belle in the ribs, leaned over and whispered, "Is _this_ your Lord Marc, the one you're always talking about? He's so handsome! You never said!"

Belle flushed. "I didn't _know._ And he's not _my_ Lord Marc," she hissed.

Carolina giggled and raised her eyebrows as if to say 'oh, _really_?' But they had no more time since Marc had turned back around. He offered a polite arm to Belle, and there was no choice but to take it and fall in behind the prince and princess to go down the main stairs. She tried not to clutch his arm too hard.

"How was the ride here?" she asked, just to make conversation.

"It was very pleasant," he answered. "I always prefer riding my horse to being in a carriage, so I am grateful the weather was so fine today."

"I was out in the garden reading until just before you arrived," she admitted.

" _One Thousand and One Nights_ again?" he guessed teasingly.

"How did you know?"

He laughed. "We may _look_ like strangers, but I'd like to hope we know each other quite well nevertheless."

"True." Belle smiled a bit sheepishly, racking her brain to remember something from his most recent letter. "Tell me about that case you wrote me about last month, the one where you were defending the man who got drunk and attacked his neighbor while mistaking him for a robber."

"We lost that case, which I expected, but the sentence was lighter than I thought it would be. I think I can take some credit for that." He winked at her.

As they continued to talk, Belle found herself listening with a partial ear to his words alone. His voice was slightly deeper than she remembered, a match for his broader chest and larger frame, but the way he tended to phrase things sounded like the man she knew from the letters. The more they talked, the more comfortable she felt, reassured that this was indeed the Marc she'd been writing to all of these years. She'd been distracted by his appearance again, but he was right. They did know each other extremely well.

They had reached the entrance hall and were just going out the doors when the rattle of carriages reached their ears. The rest of the de Guises were arriving. Belle let go of Marc's arm with far more reluctance than she would have liked to admit and took little Miranda from Anna so that the princess would be able to give her full attention to the guests. Anna's hearing was nearly nonexistent, so she would need all of her concentration to correctly play her role as hostess in a way that would satisfy her husband's closest family—especially his exacting aunt. Anna flashed her a grateful smile. Belle kissed Miranda on the cheek and the little girl snuggled close, wrapping her legs around Belle's waist.

The carriages pulled to an impressive stop in the front courtyard. Out from the first came the Duke and Duchess, followed by their eldest son Count Louis, his wife, and son. Out of the next came their second son Lord Antoine, and their eldest daughter Countess Sophie, her husband the Count de Berry, and their three children. Lord Antoine and the adult de Berrys looked positively harassed; Belle didn't blame them one bit. The de Berry children were a rambunctious lot at the best of times and several days cooped up in a carriage would have made them even worse. Belle knew from previous experience that their nurse would have them running after kites in the meadows behind the castle as soon as she could manage it to work out their cabin fever.

Out of the third carriage came the final three siblings: the recently-married Lady Louise and her husband Lord d'Hiver, and the youngest de Guises, Lady Marguerite and Lady Clothilde. The remaining four carriages held servants and luggage for the enormous family, which unless Belle missed her guess would be expanding yet again in the near future: Louise, usually so dignified, was looking positively green around the gills. She'd been married just long enough that she could easily be in the first few months of pregnancy. Belle well remembered that queasy look on Anna's face in the weeks before she announced she was expecting the baby that turned out to be Miranda. Belle didn't wish Anna's misery in those early days on anyone, not even someone she disliked as much as Louise.

Carolina noticed, too. "Well, well, well, dear Louise is certainly looking... _healthy_ ," she whispered to Belle with feeling. It was Belle's turn to nudge her in the ribs, though she shot her stepsister a meaningful grin hidden behind Miranda's head that said she fully agreed. Out of the corner of her eye, she also caught a smirk of hastily covered amusement from Marc, who must have overheard.

The Duchess swept up to them in her usual imperious manner, greeting and kissing her nephew and niece-by-marriage perfunctorily. Belle was next, carefully balancing Miranda so that she could perform the proper curtsy.

"Elegant, my dear, as always," said the Duchess with a smile. She unbent just a bit to fondly pat Miranda's cheek. Carolina's curtsy was also deemed acceptable. The Duchess greeted her son last, with gentle affection as if she hadn't just seen him that morning. After her the rest of the family lined up to greet the castle's residents. Belle had to edure the usual comments from the men about her beauty, far less endearing than Marc's unstudied remarks earlier. She pointedly ignored near-leers from Marc's older brother Antoine and from his father the Duke, the kind of gaze that always made her feel like a breeding mare trotted out for sale. And then finally everyone was led off to their respective rooms. Belle took a deep breath. She was tired just from greeting the entire de Guise clan. Their visit was likely to be…busy.

Marc made a whistling noise. Everyone turned to look at him. He shrugged. "Even I tend to forget how many of us there are. We're almost never all together, and I'm usually in the city even when the rest are visiting Mother and Father. And yes," he said, glancing at Belle and Carolina, "I'm nearly certain Louise is in the family way, though nothing official has been said yet. She's usually just fine in carriages, but she's been indisposed this entire journey. If it's true, then I must say pregnancy agrees with her. It's made her even more charming and easy to get along with."

The prince laughed. "I'm glad I'm not the only one overwhelmed. I could barely keep track when it was just you six, and Aunt Marie-Charlotte's two. Now that your generation is having children of their own I wish I could give up trying to keep everyone straight, if I didn't fear your mother's deep displeasure."

"No matter how old we get, inviting Mother's displeasure is something to be avoided at all costs," said Marc.

Anna gestured towards the doors with her hands. "Come. Soon it will be time for dinner. And I need to tell Madame Santine to have a cup of her special tea sent to Lady Louise. It made those early months with Miranda so much more bearable than my first two pregnancies." She looped one arm through her husband's, deftly took Miranda back from Belle with the other arm, and the two of them followed the de Guises indoors.

"May I escort you to dinner tonight?" Marc asked Belle softly. Almost hesitantly, as if he were afraid she might say no.

Belle didn't need Carolina's subtle poke in the back to know her answer. "Of course," she said.

Marc smiled, and Belle's heart missed a beat. _Oh, my,_ she thought. _Is this what it feels like when you start to fall in love? If so, it's…wonderful, and uncomfortable, all at the same time. I think I need to talk to Papa, and soon._

-0-0-0-

Marc steeled himself and knocked on the door to his cousin's study. There was a pause, and then the steward, Jacques, opened the door.

"Lord Marc? How may I assist you?"

"I was hoping to speak with my cousin, if he has some time."

Jacques glanced to the side, presumably to look at the prince. There followed a very swift series of expression changes that Marc's eyes barely had time to register, let alone comprehend, but it seemed to him an entire wordless conversation took place in those few seconds. Whatever had been said, the result was Jacques swinging the door open wider. "Come in."

Marc stepped inside, to find the prince standing behind an enormous desk covered in neat piles of paper. The look he gave Marc was not quite a scowl. "You can go if you want to, Jacques," he said.

Jacques quietly closed the door. "I think I'll stay, Master." His eyes crinkled at the corners. "Someone has to make certain there is no bloodshed."

Well, _that_ did not bode well for a successful conversation. It was impossible to tell whether the steward was joking. Marc paused and took a deep, unobtrusive breath, using a technique he often employed in the courtroom to gather his thoughts before speaking.

"Go ahead," said the prince impatiently, crossing his arms. "Though I think I can guess what you're about to say."

"I—maybe, maybe not, your Highness. I did come to ask your permission for something, which you've likely deduced, but I also came to ask your advice."

 _That_ triggered some surprise, and a softening of the stern posture. "Really? What about?"

"I've had a secret for years, and I've never been sure how to tell anyone the truth, not even Belle. Especially not Belle. She—well, I suppose the most important thing for you to know is that I've been in love with your daughter for a long time. Since the day she showed kindness and friendship to a lowly frog in a garden pond, and gave him hope that everything was not lost."

He had to give his cousin credit, very little got by him. Marc could see in the prince's eyes the moment he realized the implications of what Marc was saying. Off to the side, Jacques couldn't mask a sharp intake of breath. The steward was just as quick on the uptake as his master.

The prince slumped over his desk, leaning on it heavily. "Oh god, not you, too," was what he finally managed to say.

Marc nodded. There was a heavy silence. At last, the prince waved a hand. "Sit down, and tell me your story. I assume since you seem to think I'll understand your dilemma you know the reason I so mysteriously buried myself in the country for a decade and then just as mysteriously re-emerged."

"I do."

"Did Belle tell you?"

"She did, but not intentionally. She told the frog, and the frog's human mind understood. I've never told anyone, not even so much as hinted to Belle, that I knew about your curse."

One side of the prince's mouth quirked slightly, as if he wasn't sure whether to smile or frown. "So, lawyer boy, if it isn't too personal, how did you come to be transformed into a frog?"

"I was riding home from school for a visit and I was concentrating on a difficult legal problem one of my professors had set to us. It was in the deepest, darkest part of the forest a few miles from my family's home, so I had let my mind wander since I expected to encounter no one. I was so focused that I didn't notice there was an old man on the path until I nearly ran him down. Once I did realize, I avoided him and continued on without apology, still being too preoccupied with my assignment to think much of the incident."

"Let me guess: the old man was an enchanter who took exception to your rudeness," said the prince.

"More or less. I didn't even notice he was shouting after me until my horse threw me. By the time I hit the ground, I was a frog. The old man scooped me up, cackled, and said since I valued my brains more than common courtesy I could stay a lowly frog beneath everyone's notice until someone befriended me as I was and gave me a kiss as proof of their affection.

"It took me a week to make it home when it normally would have taken a few hours. When I finally did, I took up residence in the pond in my favorite back garden, in complete despair and unsure of what to do next."

"If it's any consolation," remarked the prince, "your parents were very worried about you, especially when your horse arrived home riderless."

"I know they were worried, but at the time there was little I could do to reassure them. There was no way they would believe a pond frog was their missing son, even if I had been able to communicate it to them somehow. Had I not been under a spell myself, I would have been the last person to believe in magic and curses. So I spent nearly three months swimming in circles, eating insects, and trying desperately to concoct some kind of plan.

"And then a pretty girl I'd never seen before came down to the pond one afternoon, crying because my bully of a sister had been cruel to her. On some insane impulse—I think I briefly forgot I wasn't a human boy anymore—I jumped out of the pond, thinking only to comfort her. I'd seen the impact of Louise's tongue on too many others over the years, and I felt bad for this stranger.

"To my shock, the girl didn't scream at the slimy creature before her. She was polite and kind. And she kept coming back. She'd bring books to read—something I dearly missed about being human—and she talked to me as if she really believed I understood her. She told me all about herself, and the whole story about how you'd come to meet. It gave me some hope, to realize I wasn't alone and that even spells as dire as the one you'd been placed under could be broken."

"It was a near thing, believe me," said the prince with a sigh.

"I realize to the two of you it must seem as though I got off easily to only be cursed for a few months, but at the time it was as near to hell as I could imagine," admitted Marc. "Anyway, even though the girl was kind to me and my affection for her grew daily, I still never quite believed she might be the one to break the spell. She seemed to enjoy what meager companionship I could offer as a frog, but I didn't delude myself into thinking she'd kiss me. She only talked to me at all because she was lonely and felt out of place. It wasn't as if I could dazzle her with my clever conversation, or even ask for her name. Eventually she'd go home, and I still had no glimmer of a plan on how to get out of the mess I'd found myself in."

"But she did kiss you," said Jacques quietly.

"And she must have seen me as enough of a friend for the spell's purposes when she did it. Then she dropped me—I think Louise arrived at that point, it's all a little blurry—but suddenly everything around me was getting smaller and I blinked and—and I was myself again. Neither Louise nor Belle noticed my transformation; to them, it must have seemed as if I appeared from nowhere. But once Louise was gone and I was face-to-face with Belle, back in my own body at last…"

The prince and Jacques exchanged glances that said they knew exactly how he'd felt in that moment.

"I almost told her right then. To be perfectly frank, I was tempted to get down on my knees and kiss the hem of her skirt, I was so thankful to her for breaking the spell. But then my parents arrived and the chance was gone. And afterwards…I could never find the words. I knew she'd believe me if I told her the truth about the curse, but the rest of it…as a human boy, I was baffled and embarrassed by the depth of my own feelings for her, which seemed to have grown in proportion with the change in my size. It wasn't just that I was grateful, though I admit there was an element of that at the beginning. I felt as if I knew her, and loved her for being the kind of person who would befriend a frog, but to her my human self was a complete stranger. I didn't want her to feel some kind of obligation to like me as a human because she'd liked me as a frog. At least, that's the only excuse I can come up with that makes any kind of sense as to why I didn't—haven't—told her." He shrugged helplessly. "That's what I came to ask for advice about. You know her better than anyone else, including me."

The prince regarded him through narrowed eyes for a moment. Then he smiled, a bit wickedly. "She's going to kill you, you know. For keeping it a secret all these years."

Marc sighed and ran his hands over his face. "I know."

"Don't exaggerate, Master," chided Jacques. "You'll only make him more nervous."

"He should be."

The steward actually rolled his eyes, and for the first time Marc really comprehended that their curse had solidified these two into a partnership long before Belle entered their lives. He'd always seen Jacques in the background and Belle spoke of the man in her letters with deep affection and respect, but he'd never been privy to how exactly Jacques functioned within the household hierarchy. Here he could see that in private, despite the vast difference in rank, the two men saw each other nearly as equals.

"Do try to rein in your protective instincts when it comes to Belle, Master. Much as neither of us wants to admit it, she has reached her majority and is perfectly capable of making her own decisions."

The prince shot Jacques a reproachful look. "Don't remind me."

Jacques turned to Marc. " _My_ advice to you, young man, is not to put off telling her the truth any longer. If the curse taught us anything, it's that you never know when one small decision could turn into a life-altering one. I can't predict exactly how she'll respond, but delaying can only make things worse."

"Coming from him, that's quite an achievement," said the prince. "Jacques reads people, especially those of us he knows well, like an open book."

"In matters of the heart, people are at their most unpredictable," Jacques said sagely. "Belle has considered you a close friend for many years, Lord Marc. And she is confused by her feelings for you now that you've seen each other in person again."

Marc blinked hopefully. "You think she's—?"

"Attracted to you? Certainly." Jacques ignored the prince's low growl at this. "I think she would be receptive to a courtship, if courtship is what you came here to ask permission to do. But you must tell her the entire truth and let her decide whether it changes anything between you." He turned to his Master and waited, folding his hands and tilting his head in an expectant manner.

"Oh, very well," the prince grumbled. "If you did come to ask permission to court Belle, I give my consent."

"Thank you, your Highness." Marc bowed to him and to Jacques. "I know you both love Belle very much and what you have is special. It's not my intention to come between that."

"But you're still going to take her away." In a slightly less dignified man, the prince's remark would have sounded petulant.

"If she agrees to marry me, then, yes, I assume she would come live with me in the city, where I have my business. I'm established enough now that I'd be able to support her and any children we have in comfort, if that was worrying you."

"Come, Master," coaxed Jacques. "We've always known this would happen eventually. Doesn't it help to know she has a suitor who already loves her for the extraordinary woman she is?"

"It almost makes it worse," grumbled the prince, but then he relented a bit. "You seem a decent enough man, if an unfortunate fellow member of the survivors of magical curses set. I suppose in its own twisted way it's a recommendation."

"There is one more thing you should know before you proceed further," said Jacques.

"What is it?"

The prince sighed. "Your brother Antoine has also asked permission to court Belle. Reluctantly, I gave it."

-0-0-0-

"Antoine?!" Belle exclaimed in surprise and horror. "But he's so...why, I barely know him!" This was not at all what she'd expected to hear when she came to her father's study a few days after the arrival of the Guises to ask his advice.

"I'm not saying you have to agree to marry him, Belle," said the prince. "The whole point of a courtship is so that you can get to know him."

"But why should I consider him? For that matter, why should he consider _me?_ I've been beneath his notice since the moment we were introduced. He's never even spoken a full sentence to me that I can recall. I assumed he was like Louise and thought interacting with a base-born peasant sullied him in some way."

"Apparently he's changed his mind," said the prince. "You'd have to ask him what made the difference."

Belle scowled and gestured grandly up and down her torso, starting with her breasts and ending at her hips. "I think we both know."

The prince's ears and neck flushed red. "Don't be crass."

"Don't be naïve," Belle snapped back. "It was obvious all of the men who showed interest in me at court during my debut were _really_ interested in one of two things: my dowry or my body. Usually both. Even Marc heard in the city about the splash my so-called beauty made. I've seen the way men started reacting to me the moment I began to look remotely like a woman."

"And you sent all those men packing, as was your right," the prince reminded her.

"Again: why should I consider him at all and not just turn him down flat? Antoine certainly doesn't need my dowry and he hasn't cared to get to know me as a person, so that leaves me with only one conclusion as to what led to his sudden interest. He certainly looked at me the same way all those other men did the minute he got out of the carriage." _How different from the way Marc looks at me,_ she thought involuntarily.

"The reason you should consider him," said the prince with a sigh, "is that since I haven't produced a son with Anna, he still stands to inherit the province."

"What does that have to do with me marrying him?"

"Even though you've never been my legal heir, Belle, you've been the eldest daughter of the house and at my right hand for more than eight years. You know this province and its people as well as Jacques or I do, you care about them and their needs. Having never lived here, Antoine has none of those advantages. Things might not go well for him or the province for some time after he takes the throne…unless you were there as his wife to smooth the way."

Belle staggered back a step as if she'd taken a blow to the stomach. She'd always assumed the choice of whom to marry was hers alone, and it would be based on mutual affection and respect—if she married at all. But her father was right. She did know this province; she'd been attending court sessions and helping with accounting practically since she started living at the castle. In that sense, marrying the de facto heir _did_ seem like a logical conclusion. It also meant that the money that would have been her dowry would stay with the province.

Sensing her distress, the prince came and put his arms around her. "I'm sorry, sweetheart. This is a lot to place on you. Normally I would be the last person to suggest entertaining the notion of marrying a man you don't love. Indeed, the fact that we're having this conversation at all feels deeply hypocritical. Especially since someone I sense you're more compatible with has also asked to court you. It never occurred to me that Antoine would even think of you as a potential bride, but now that he has, I'm forced to at least tell you of the implications before you reject him out of hand."

"You mean Jacques told you to tell me to consider it logically and not be impulsive."

"Well, yes. But he also said that you should do what your heart feels is right."

Belle sighed and leaned her head on his shoulder. "Who else asked to court me? The person you think is a better fit?"

"Lord Marc."

Belle's heart leapt and she pulled away sharply to look at his face. "Marc?" she said hopefully. "Truly?"

"Your reaction tells me you're more pleased with this news," said the prince a bit wryly.

"We've only been friends since we first met," Belle reminded him. "We write to each other all the time. I'd actually come to talk to you about him. I had never considered him as a…well, as a potential suitor until this visit, but then…"

"You were surprised to find your gawky beanpole grown into a polished young man," the prince finished. "Jacques said you looked starstruck after you both ran into him in the hallway the day he arrived."

Belle felt her cheeks flame. "He told you about that?"

"I had to pry it out of him after the lawyer boy came to ask my permission to court you, but yes, he did. I was hoping to get some sort of idea on what your inclinations might be towards either of the Guise brothers before I spoke with you about it. I knew you and Marc had been corresponding, of course, but you only told me about what you discussed when he wrote with a legal puzzle of some kind. You never mentioned anything personal, so I wondered if you felt only friendship."

"And how does he feel about me?"

The prince's face was the rehearsed-neutral one he used in the courtroom when he had a potentially sensitive case on his hands. "I'll let him tell you. With all of his training in rhetoric, he'll probably be more articulate about it than I would, anyway."

"Papa!"

"In all seriousness, dear daughter, it's not my story to tell," he said enigmatically. He huffed out a sigh. "I don't know how best to advise you in this matter, as a father or as a prince. I won't sugarcoat that this is one of the most important decisions you will make in your life, and no one else can make it for you. Jacques, Anna, and I did our best to raise you to think for yourself and to gather as much evidence as you can before you act. I hope this is one of the times when our teaching will pay off. We'll do our best to support you in whatever decision you make."

"Thank you, Papa." Belle flung her arms around him and hugged him tight. He hugged her back just as hard. As always, she felt completely enveloped by his care and protection.

"I've wished you could stay the little girl who rescued me from myself forever, Belle, but the future is here whether we like it or not. We none of us are the people we were when the spell was broken, nor should we be after nearly nine years. We've changed; new people have come into our lives. But nothing will ever change the fact that we love each other and always will."

"I love you, Papa," she murmured into his coat.

"And I you, Belle."

-0-0-0-

As Marc had expected, Belle looked like she wanted to slap him. If she did, he vowed he would let her. He deserved it. Taking Jacques' advice, he had asked Belle to stroll with him in the gardens as soon as the opportunity presented itself. When they were far enough away from the castle he was certain no one would disturb them, he'd told her everything. Now he could only wait for what she would do.

Belle balled her fists and he braced himself. But she said, in a thick voice, "I thought you were _dead_. You let me go all these years thinking—" she paused, and gulped. "—thinking I'd possibly _killed_ you."

He blanched in horror. "Is that what you thought? That the poor frog had died from you dropping it less than a foot?"

"What else was I supposed to think? You disappeared and never came back!"

"Of course I came back! I'm standing right in front of you!" He spread his arms, feeling a bit baffled. "It's…it's _me_!"

Belle bit her lip, tears sparkling in her eyes. He could almost see the cogs of her mind turning, putting together all the pieces she'd been puzzling over for years about her mysterious friend. She shook her head almost ruefully, and a single teardrop spilled down her cheek at the movement. "Of course it's you. It's been you all along. How did I miss it? I feel like such a fool!"

"Don't blame yourself." He felt even worse than he'd expected. He'd caused her this pain, however unintentionally. "It's my fault, Belle. I'm so sorry. I should have told you long ago, but…I truly had no idea that little frog meant so much to you. I didn't realize you felt responsible when he disappeared. I thought he…I…was just a passing fancy, something you were telling your feelings to because you were lonely. I was just one frog like all the rest."

"No." Her head shook again. "I knew you were different from the beginning. I...I sensed it. I don't talk to the frogs here, you know. Just to you. Something about the way you looked at me that first day, somehow I could tell you understood. I thought even then that I was slightly mad for pouring my heart out to a frog day after day, but I kept talking to you anyway. And then you were gone…I feared the worst. The appearance of Marc de Guise, while it did help, seemed almost like a distraction at the time. I felt I should have looked harder for the frog, but then I enjoyed talking to the real Marc just as much…" She laughed breathlessly. "Listen to me. I _do_ sound crazy."

"As reasonable as anyone can sound, after what I did to you. I should have been honest from the beginning. I tried, but…I never knew how to begin."

"The waterlily. That was you. You were trying to tell me."

He nodded.

"And the letters?"

"I wanted you to see me as _me_. I wanted your friendship when I could respond in kind. But the more I got to know you, the more hopelessly in love I fell. And then—"

"Wait. What?"

Marc nearly bit his tongue in half when he realized the words that had slipped out. Normally he had better control, but it was as if telling Belle the truth about his curse had broken a dam. "Could you perhaps forget I said that?"

Belle just looked at him, luminous eyes wide. Her expression was hard to read, especially without his spectacles. He thought she might be taken aback, but beyond that he wasn't sure. Another tear slid down her cheek. She seemed not to notice.

Marc reached out, hesitated halfway, then wiped the tear away gently with his thumb. She let him do it. He stepped closer, shortening the distance between them. Still she didn't move. Before he could talk himself out of it, Marc bent down and kissed her gently. To his slight surprise, she leaned into him, winding her fingers into the front of his shirt and pulling him closer. His arms found their way around her waist and his hands tucked neatly into the small of her back.

This was…incredible. It was the first time he'd kissed a girl on the lips; he was fairly certain from her letters she'd never kissed a boy, either, and yet it felt so easy to have her in his arms like this. So right. He didn't even have time to worry about where his nose went or whether to keep his eyes open or shut, as he'd sometimes wondered when he was younger and contemplated the logistics of kissing. Everything just fell into place.

They pulled apart but didn't separate entirely. Instead she tucked herself against him and rested her head on his collarbone, her arms snaking around him to hug him tight. "I'm glad I didn't kill you," she murmured.

He almost laughed at the absurdity, and the quiet joy of holding her close. "Your friendship changed me back to my real self when I wasn't sure I'd ever be Marc de Guise again. I can't thank you enough for that. And I am so sorry for worrying you for all these years. That was never my intention."

"I always wondered if I'd see my frog again. It seems he was there in front of me the entire time, and I just didn't know it." She let out a breathless chuckle. "And it seems I just kissed him again."

Now he did laugh, realizing she was right. This wasn't _her_ first time kissing _him_ , when you looked at it that way.

By mutual unspoken agreement they headed back to the castle before they were missed. They were careful to walk just far enough apart that no one could accuse them of impropriety. Belle slowed the closer they got to the castle, however. Eventually she stopped in the shadow of the last big tree.

"What's wrong?" Marc asked.

"What am I going to do about Antoine? I promised Papa I'd at least give him a chance to court me. But now—" She glanced behind her, clearing thinking of that kiss they had just shared.

"Your father told me Antoine also asked to court you. Has he even tried to talk to you since?"

"No. I can't figure out what his intentions might be in wanting me for a wife. Papa was surprised, too, when he asked. It brings up all kinds of unnecessary complications." She explained what her father had told her about why she might want to accept his heir. Marc felt his heart sink the more she talked, but despite his dismay he knew what his answer had to be.

"Those are very compelling reasons. Belle, listen. I told you I loved you back there. I meant it. I'd be the happiest man in the world if you consented to be my wife. But like you, I was raised a noble. I understand only too well the demands of doing right by your people. Your father may be correct about Antoine needing help and guidance from a wife as well-educated and familiar with the province as you are when he takes the throne. Antoine has kept to himself for years, and I've been away in the city for so long we're practically strangers. We were never close to begin with, so I have no idea what he might be thinking now.

"You know my feelings and intentions. But I think it's only fair to the people of the province for you to consider Antoine's court to you. And if you decide in the end to accept him...for your sake, I'll step aside. I promise there won't be any ugly drama where I demand you choose between us."

"You'd do that?" She studied his face carefully. "You'd let me go, after loving me for so long?"

"It's because I love you that I'd let you go."

"I don't understand."

"I want you to be happy. If you married me but felt you could have made a difference in your peoples' lives here, I would hate for you to spend the rest of your life feeling guilty about the choice you made. Eventually it would ruin any happiness we had. Yes, I love you, but you and I have seen enough husbands and wives who were once in love at each other's throats in court to know sometimes that's not enough to build a life together. And I won't use my own feelings as a weapon to force you to be mine."

Her eyes glimmered with tears again, but she smiled through them. "What about my feelings? That was the most romantic speech I've ever heard. Not even Malory compares. You, sir, should be a writer in your spare time." She pulled him deeper into the shadows beneath the tree and kissed him again, this time with much more fire. He felt his knees melt and he almost had to catch himself against the tree trunk to keep from falling.

The bushes nearby rustled and giggled. Belle and Marc sprang apart, and Belle spun towards the offending shrub. "Carolina!"

Belle's younger stepsister emerged, looking the worse for wear. Her hair had been pulled out of its neat style in several places and there were smudges and small tears on her skirt.

"How long have you been following us?" Belle asked with a sigh.

"I haven't!" Carolina insisted. "I mean, I saw you go out, but I stayed in this garden. I've been here all day sketching the butterflies in this bush as they emerge from their chrysalises. Honest." As proof, she reached into the bush and pulled out a stack of papers bound loosely together with twine. There were indeed stunningly detailed sketches of butterflies, their wings still crumpled, clinging to the remains of their former shells.

"These are amazing," said Marc.

"Thank you." Carolina beamed at him, then turned back to her sister. She grinned impishly. "It isn't my fault you chose to have your little encounter with your handsome lawyer next to _my_ butterfly bush."

"You won't tell anyone, will you?" asked Belle. "Please? Not even Marguerite or Clothilde?"

"Why not? If you're going to be engaged soon anyway—"

"If you heard any of that, then you know we might not be, no matter what our feelings for each other are. I need to at least give Lord Antoine a chance to state his case. And for that to happen, he can't find out I was kissing his brother, no matter what."

Carolina nodded. "I understand. I promise I won't tell a soul. But I may tease you about it in private."

"I suppose that's a fair trade." Belle held out a hand, and Carolina shook it solemnly. Belle didn't even seem to notice her sister's hand was covered in dirt and ink. "We'll leave you to get back to your butterflies."

"Do you want to stay and watch? There should be another one coming along soon."

"No, thank you. We should be getting back in case anyone wonders where we disappeared to."

Carolina put her finger to her lips conspiratorially and slid back into her bush. "You were never here. By the way, your fichu is crooked."

"Thank you, sister dear. Remember to come in in time to change for dinner."

Belle fixed the offending accessory, the sheer kerchief she wore around her neck, as they walked back to the castle. "She won't tell anyone," she told Marc. "She's the quieter de la Verre girl and the one everyone thinks is a bit odd; it rarely occurs to anyone to ask her what she's seen while she's out chasing ladybirds and she won't volunteer information unless you lean on her hard. If it had been Amalia I'd be worried; I adore her, but she does love her gossip a little too much sometimes."

"I trust you to know your sisters." Marc glanced back at the bush, but there might as well not have been anyone there. "And the butterflies?"

"Oh, you know Carolina has always had an abiding love for insects, at least as long as I've known her. As you saw, she also has a great talent for drawing. The walls of her bedroom are covered in exquisite sketches of her favorites. She's even been asked to contribute a few to published natural science texts. Anna agreed, if the fees went into Carolina's dowry until she reaches her majority. The money isn't much, but she may be more famous than any of us someday."

"Remarkable."

They walked the rest of the way in silence. When the time came for them to part ways, they exchanged a look that said they had an understanding. They knew their own feelings, but for the moment would have to keep them to themselves until Antoine chose to act on his request to court Belle. Then, and only then, would decisions regarding their all of their futures be made. In the meantime, Marc vowed he would exercise all of the patience he'd learned over the years of writing to Belle, his love feeling hopelessly unrequited. At least he'd finally told the truth. That burden was gone at last.

And she hadn't killed him, as her father had predicted. She'd kissed him instead. That was something, at least.

Something to fill his dreams for many nights to come.

End of Part 1

* * *

 _Author's Note: This bonus chapter ended up being so long that I split it down the middle. Part 2 is written and will be posted soon. They read together as a short novella.  
_

 _Usually I don't base the physical appearances of original characters that I create on real people or even other fictional characters. In this case my brain did something unexpected: grown-up Marc showed up as Zachary Levi (best known for his role as the titular character in the TV show_ Chuck, _as well as the voice of Flynn Rider in_ Tangled _)_ _but with long red hair and green eyes. This probably came about because I saw him as Georg Nowack in the Broadway revival of the musical_ She Loves Me _at about the time Marc was manifesting as a character in my head._ She Loves Me _, incidentally, has some Beauty and the Beast/Pride and Prejudice vibes because it's about a couple who get off on the wrong foot in person but discover they've been writing anonymous love letters to each other. It's adorable and that production had some measurable influence on Marc, Belle and certain things about their relationship._


	21. Bonus Chapter 3 2: Oak Tree

_Disclaimer: I do not own Beauty and the Beast._

The large ball celebrating the visit of the Guises was a few days later. All of the nearby nobles and many of the wealthiest commoners were invited. Belle was excited to see her stepsister Amalia and her husband Count Honoré. They normally lived at court, which was their preference, but the Count's estates were a day's journey from his in-laws' province so on the rare occasions they were "at home," so to speak, visiting was easier. In this case they had come home to await the birth of their first child. Unlike Louise, Amalia was already quite round and growing bigger every day. This short trip was to be her last outing before impending childbirth made travel too dangerous. Her husband fretted about even going this far, but Amalia would not miss a ball if she could help it.

All of this was explained in a letter ostensibly to Princess Anna, but included the rest of the family in the salutation so Anna read it aloud to them. Belle and Carolina shook their heads over Amalia's refusal to stay at home from a ball no matter the impediment. Carolina tolerated balls and parties and Belle herself enjoyed them, but nowhere near as much as their eldest sister did. Belle could not imagine bouncing for a full day in a carriage, attending an exhausting all-night social event, then bouncing a full day back, all while sporting a belly full to the brim with a baby. But that was Amalia. And Belle would certainly not be sorry to see her, no matter the circumstances, even if she didn't dare tell her much about her current romantic situation for fear of the gossip that would ensue.

Marc and Belle had carefully maintained a façade of affectionate acquaintance. They made no attempt to see each other privately, though Belle would have very much liked to try kissing him again. She had enjoyed their previous attempts immensely. She didn't dare dwell on it, however, because until she knew more about the situation with Antoine, she couldn't allow herself to fall any more deeply for Marc. It would only make her decision more difficult later. So while they often sat together at meals and never ran out of things to talk about, they made certain their conversations never isolated them from everyone else in the room.

Belle was fairly certain the only one, beyond those that already knew, who suspected that there was something more going on between Belle and Marc was his mother, the Duchess. Belle occasionally caught the tail end of a mildly suspicious glance from the dignified older woman while she and Marc talked about his cases, though if she had to guess she would say her father's aunt did not look displeased. That was something, since the Duchess could be an implacable wall when her will was crossed and they did not need yet another bar.

Antoine finally broke his silence to ask Belle to save him several dances at the ball. Belle accepted with a combination of puzzlement and eagerness, hoping that finally they would start the process of getting to know one another. Beyond that he still rarely spoke to her beyond cool, distant greetings. However, now that she had become aware of him in his capacity as a possible husband she sometimes noticed him staring at her silently when they were in a room together. The servants she asked reported that he tended to treat them brusquely, just on the acceptable border border between rude and indifferent, and was often demanding, but every one of them followed this up with something to the effect of "he's not as bad as some I've served." He had certainly had never asked _them_ about _her._ It made for a frustrating time making anything of his character.

Marc also asked her to reserve a dance or two, saying he wanted to make up for missing her debut as he'd originally promised. This Belle accepted without having to think twice. She recalled Marc not being a particularly good dancer, but she knew she would enjoy spending the time with him no matter what.

Amalia's arrival the day before the ball was attended with much fuss and fanfare. Belle couldn't believe how large she had grown. When she had last seen her elder stepsister, Amalia's midsection had only sported a small bulge barely visible through her clothing unless you knew it was there. Even then Amalia hadn't been able to resist resting a hand protectively on the bump. Now she could hardly go a minute without stroking it in an almost unconscious way. Usually slightly vain of her figure, Amalia had taken the changes in her body with a jovial cheerfulness that betrayed how excited she was at the prospect of becoming a mother. This attitude surprised those who didn't know her well, but having seen how much Amalia had doted on her half-sister Miranda when she was tiny Belle had suspected she might have a merry outlook on her own pregnancy when the time came, even the trying parts of it.

"The _worst_ part by far," she confided to Anna, Belle and Carolina when the four of them had retired to one of the small family parlors to sip coffee and chat, "is having to decide on suitable names. Honey's absolutely no help; he just kisses me and says 'whatever makes you happy, darling.' Which is not an unfavorable attitude to find in a husband in the general way, but you must admit it can be frustrating when one actually wants an opinion."

Anna stifled a laugh. A too-agreeable husband was not a problem the princess frequently had. Belle knew that while her father and his wife were usually on the same page, when they were not the household was at sixes and sevens. Fortunately choosing Miranda's name had not caused such a storm.

Amalia helped both of her sisters and her mother get ready for the ball, rummaging with abandon through their wardrobes until she found the gowns and accessories that suited her. Belle did her best to come along behind and straighten up, so as not to give the servants extra work when they were already so busy.

The dress Amalia chose for her was a favorite of Belle's: the saffron yellow one the castle servants had made for her as their 'best wishes' gift for her debut. It was a more mature version of the first ballgown they had made her as a girl, and each servant had contributed something to its crafting, whether it was a bit of embroidery or helping to sew on one of the pearls. Even Jacques had shown his unexpected skill with a needle in helping to hem the skirt. Belle always felt truly beautiful when she wore it, knowing her friends had made it for her. Amalia liked it because she said, "It gives you something extra. You sparkle when you put it on."

Belle was the first of the female members of the family to finish getting ready, mostly because she had insisted on a simple hairstyle and no jewels beyond earrings. Amalia, still holding necklaces up to a resigned-looking Carolina, called over her shoulder, "Belle, be a dear and go keep _Beau-pére_ and the other menfolk company while they wait for us ladies. We may still take some time."

Dutifully Belle went out into the hallway. True to Amalia's prediction, she found her father and the other male members of their party, dressed in their best, waiting in attitudes as their personalities determined. The prince stood relaxed, hands clasped behind him, clearly lost in thought. The Duke, Count Louis, Count de Berry and Lord d'Hiver were in a loose circle, discussing something they found amusing in low voices. Lord Antoine and Count Honoré lounged silently against the wall, Antoine with his arms folded. Marc also leaned against the wall next to his brother, but he had his spectacles on his nose and was reading out of a small book.

Belle had a brief moment to imagine that they were posing for a portrait, one of the ones that tried to capture people in seemingly unguarded moments. All of the men straightened and turned towards her when she stepped forward from the door. Belle was not usually much interested in her appearance beyond making certain she was presentable, but there is some undeniable satisfaction in knowing you look your best. Every single one of the men's eyes grew slightly wider as they took her in. A few jaws fell open, including Antoine's. Marc whipped his spectacles off and nearly dropped his book. Belle smiled at him in reassurance, but that didn't stop him from looking as though he'd been run over by a carriage.

The prince came forward, laugh lines crinkling around his eyes, to kiss her cheek. "You couldn't have planned a better entrance," he whispered to her. More loudly, he said, "You look beautiful, daughter. Are the others behind you?"

"They're on jewelry at least, Papa."

"Ah. Then it will be another few minutes. Come and join us." He slid her hand into the crook of his elbow and led her towards the group. The circle around the Duke went back to their conversation, while Antoine, Honoré and Marc drifted over from the wall to join Belle and the prince.

"Dear sister, you are a vision," said Honoré with a boyish grin, kissing her hand. "My Amalia chose well for you, as she always does."

"Her eye is never to be doubted," Belle agreed.

"I hope she doesn't overtax herself tonight," said Honoré, his usual smile fading for a moment. "She never complained in the carriage, but her back was all in knots last evening after we arrived."

"I know Anna will be keeping a sharp eye on her," Belle said soothingly.

"We all will," said the prince.

"A first grandchild is something to be celebrated," said Marc. "I remember when Sophie was expecting Mother and Father's first. Mother was all in a flutter for nine straight months. After that, she was much more relaxed and able to enjoy the time of waiting for the birth. With four healthy grandchildren—five, with Louise's baby on the way—she's positively sanguine about the whole business."

"That's reassuring," the prince said, in a way that it was impossible to tell whether he found it reassuring or not.

Out of the corner of her eye, Belle had been watching Antoine through this exchange. His expression remained disinterested and he had folded his arms again. She was disconcerted to note that despite the differences in expression and body language he bore a striking resemblance to a younger version of her father, down to the blue eyes. Aesthetically handsome, but not someone she found attractive due to his features' association in her mind with someone else. Marc was the only one of the three Guise sons whose looks had taken after the Duke's rather than the Duchess's side of the family, and the difference had gotten more pronounced now that the boys had fully grown into men. Belle tried, briefly, to imagine what it would be like to kiss Antoine and had to abandon the notion before she got queasy. The idea of kissing someone who looked so much like the prince was not a pleasant prospect. She suppressed a shudder.

As if sensing her discomfort even if he could not know the reason for it, the prince slid her hand back onto his arm protectively and patted it. Belle smiled up at him and rested her head lightly on his shoulder, absorbing the offered reassurance. She guessed he had probably done it in part to remind her two suitors to behave themselves with his precious daughter at the ball because they would answer to him if they didn't. If so, Marc got the message; he inclined his head respectfully. Antoine's bored expression didn't change. The prince frowned and seemed about to say something when the other ladies started to emerge from their chambers one by one.

They began to pair off to make their descent into the main room to open the ball. The prince let go of Belle to take up Anna's arm. Husbands took their places beside their wives. As the eldest unmarried daughter, Belle was on Antoine's arm as the eldest unmarried son. Marc went to Carolina and the two of them stood behind their brother and sister, with Marguerite and Clothilde bringing up the rear of the group since there was a shortage of men in the family. Belle defeated the urge to glance behind her at Marc, though she was acutely aware of his gaze on the back of her neck. Thus arrayed, they made their way two by two to the grand staircase and descended it to their waiting guests.

As expected, Antoine led her out for the first minuet. He was a good partner, and Belle actually found herself challenged to keep up with him, which did not happen often. She enjoyed rising to the occasion and she thought he might actually have a pleased expression on his face when they were finished. Belle would have liked to stay and watch Marc and Carolina take their turn, but she found she needed some refreshment after exerting herself so much. By the time she returned drink in hand Marguerite was dancing with one of the local lords.

She saw Marc come up beside her in her peripheral vision. She recognized his velvet jacket's shade of green, one that matched his eyes. "How did you fare in your dancing?" she asked.

"Well enough." He shrugged. "Carolina and I are indifferent dancers when it comes to the minuet. We know enough to perform it adequately but no more, so in that we were perfectly matched. Nothing like the show you and Antoine put on. The two of you are easily the best dancers here."

"You haven't seen Papa and Anna yet," said Belle with a grin. "I guarantee they will outstrip us handily." As the hosts, the prince and princess would dance last.

Marc nodded thoughtfully. "I know you told me she and your father love to dance together despite her poor hearing. I admit I am looking forward to seeing them perform."

And indeed, no one remembered Belle and Antoine's dance once the prince and princess had taken the floor. Not only were they superb, a feat in itself since Anna could not hear most of the intricacies of the music, but the joy they clearly took in the dance and in each other was palpable. Belle never tired of watching them. Her father had married the only woman in the world who was his match in every way that mattered, and nowhere was this more apparent than on the dance floor. Even in their differences they complimented each other.

When they finished, there was dead silence among the audience for the time it takes to draw three deep breaths. Then everyone broke into spontaneous wild applause. As the prince and princess bowed and nodded to everyone, Belle nudged Marc, who still stood at her side. "Close your mouth, sir. Flies will get in," she teased.

Marc shook himself and popped his jaw shut, though he still looked somewhat stunned. "I ne'er saw true beauty till this night," he murmured.

"Shakespeare," said Belle automatically.

" _Romeo and Juliet_ ," they finished together, then laughed. The musicians struck up another song, this one a cotillion, much more to Belle's liking than the formal minuet.

"Shall we, ma'mzelle?" Marc held out an arm.

"Of course, my lord." Belle took it and out they went, joining the other couples lining up for the country dances.

Belle wasn't sure what she'd expected, but dancing with Marc was a heady experience. She remembered him being clumsy on the dance floor and not much inclined to improve, but that had been based on a few weeks' experience when they were fifteen and eleven. It had also, she now knew, been during the time immediately after his transformation into a human after several months as a frog, which in hindsight might have contributed to his clumsiness. Her father had had a fairly long adjustment period of getting used to his human form again after so long as a Beast, and one of the lingering symptoms had been problems with balance and coordination—a man's body simply moved differently than an animal's.

But whatever had been before was certainly not the case now. While perhaps not as technically skilled as his brother or her parents, Marc had a grace of his own, and a certain playfulness in his expressions and movements, that Belle rarely saw from Lord Marc the Scholarly Lawyer. She'd seldom had the pleasure of enjoying a dance more and she wished with all her heart that it would never stop.

Eventually the music did end. As Marc led her off the floor, Belle blurted, "When do you find the time to practice?"

"Whenever I can spare a minute. There are several taverns near the _pension_ where I live, and many of them have dancing in the evenings. Not so refined an atmosphere as this," he gestured at the enormous gilded ballroom around them, "but adequate."

"You never mentioned it in your letters."

"It's been very cathartic; a way for me to clear my mind and forget any worries I was dwelling on. It probably slipped my mind. And," he added quietly, "I wanted to be an adequate partner the next time I had the chance to dance with you."

Belle flushed. "You more than succeeded. I haven't enjoyed anything so much in a long time."

Another young man came up to ask the favor of a dance with Belle, which was fortunate since the conversation had steered dangerously close to romantic again. Belle was preoccupied through her next several partners, but not enough that she made a mistake. Let them think she was distant by nature. There was too much else on her mind at the moment.

Antoine sought her out around midnight. "Come." He held out an arm.

Puzzled, Belle took it. He led her out onto the dance floor, but no music struck up. Instead Antoine waved for silence, which happened slowly as those around them noticed, or at least looked up due to the lack of music.

Belle felt a pinch of mortified horror. _Oh, no,_ she thought, a little seed of panic developing in her chest. _He wouldn't…not now!_

When the din in the room had mostly quieted, Antoine took Belle's hand. She knew it was icy to his touch and didn't care. She wanted to yank it back, but she seemed to have lost all muscle control. She knew what was coming now and was powerless to stop it.

"Mademoiselle DuPont," he said loudly. "You are the loveliest creature in this room by far. As soon as I saw your delicate beauty, I knew you had to be mine. Will you become my bride?"

The crowd rumbled in astonishment. Belle stared at Antoine in confusion and dismay. She hadn't seen this coming, and now was struck completely speechless. How could he think she'd say yes, when he'd made not even the smallest attempt to win her favor prior to tonight? Anger and stubbornness burned in her mind. He must believe he had her backed into a corner just because he'd proposed to her in front of everyone. He didn't know her, or he'd know she didn't care a fig for such social pressure.

Her eyes roved around the crowd frantically. First she saw her father. He was clearly outraged; Anna had a firm hand on his chest, keeping him from charging forward. Amalia, standing near them, looked utterly shocked. Honoré had a supporting hand under her elbow. Most of the Guise siblings and Carolina were similarly startled. The Duchess was pale and had her lips pressed in a razor line, her face impossible to read. Apparently none of the family had known about Antoine's plan. And Marc…

Marc's expression warred with fury and resignation. He was just the smallest bit afraid she'd say yes.

That steeled her resolve more than anything else. She refused to be boxed in. Belle looked at the floor for a moment, gathering herself, then withdrew her hand. "No," she said, her voice controlled but loud enough for those around them to hear. "I'm flattered, Lord Antoine, but I hardly know you. And surely you realize that beauty alone cannot make for a good marriage. I must respectfully refuse."

"But—" She'd surprised him. She could see it in his eyes. He had actually thought she'd agree. "But with what I stand to inherit, I can make all your dreams come true. Surely you must see that with all I can give you, you cannot say no. As a mere peasant ward, you will never get a better offer than to become a future princess."

Her temper flared. She actually toyed with slapping him for his presumption. Normally physical violence would never occur to her, but she had been stretched almost to the breaking point of her tolerance. All of her training in social niceties surfaced, restraining her at the last minute from doing something drastic. Instead, she opted to say in her iciest tone, "What could you possibly know about my dreams, Antoine?"

Having delivered that line, she whirled on her heel and stalked from the ballroom. She didn't trust herself to say anything else. Behind her, she heard chaos start to break out as everyone simultaneously tried to make sense of what they had just witnessed. Let them. She was past caring.

Upstairs she almost ran, hampered by her gown, kicking off her heeled slippers when she tripped on the stairs. Once in her room she slammed the door and flung herself down on her bed. She didn't cry, nor did she feel any urge to. She just lay there with her face buried in her pillow and wondered whether it would make her feel better to scream in outrage and humiliation.

Someone entered the room. Belle looked up, expecting her father or Jacques or even, improbably, Marc, but it was Anna.

Belle heaved a breath. _Where's Papa?_ she asked, using the language of gestures Anna used with all four of her daughters in private.

 _Still downstairs. Jacques had to drag him out with a hand over his mouth and lock him into one of the parlors, or else he would have challenged Antoine to a duel right there. He's probably still talking him down._

Belle laughed weakly. _What a sight that must have been._

 _My mother used to say, "What do we live for but to provide sport for our neighbors and laugh at them in our turn?"_ said Anna, her smile telling Belle she was joking. Then she sobered. _That was a very brave thing you did, my dear. I'm not sure I could have been so strong at your age, faced with all of those eyes. But you're being strong for someone else, aren't you?_

Belle flopped back onto the bed. After a moment, she said, _Yes, and no. I…I love Lord Marc. I suppose I'm only just coming to discover how much, for being willing to let me go if that's what I wanted even though he's been in love with me for years. But just now…I did that for me. I don't know Antoine. And the fact that he would presume I would just marry him like that, that all I've ever wanted was to be princess in your place someday…it makes me angrier than I've been in a long time. I'm not sure I was ever this angry at my birth father, Gaston, and he beat me almost every day of my life. At least I knew what to expect from him. Antoine…I know so little about him. How can I tie my life and future to someone I know so little of? For all I know, I'll end up like my mother: browbeaten and abused by the man who should care for me most of all._ Now the tears did start to well up.

Anna didn't say anything. She gathered Belle into her lap like a mother hen and made soothing noises, as if Belle were a child. When Belle felt marginally better, Anna helped her out of her saffron gown and underpinnings, into a nightgown, and then sat her down at the vanity to brush out her hair. Belle recalled the first time she'd peered into this mirror. She'd looked every inch the battered, starved, nervous waif she'd been. Now, even clad only in a nightgown and her eyes puffy, she looked like a lady, and a woman who had the confidence of someone who knows she is loved, and loves deeply in return. Her parents, her sisters, the servants. And a good, steady man, who didn't need a title or future wealth to lure her in.

There was a tap at the door, and her father entered, followed by Jacques and Carolina. "Amalia needed to lie down," said Carolina, by way of explanation for her sister's absence. "Aunt de Guise took control of the ball until you get back, Mama."

"Thank you, dear," said Anna, switching to verbal speech in the presence of the men. "Where is Lord Antoine?"

Carolina giggled. "Count Louis and the Duke dragged him out by the scruff of his neck, like a naughty puppy. It seems the Guise family disapproves of his hasty behavior."

"And Lord Marc?"

"I'm not sure. I think he was still at the ball. He was talking to Marguerite when I last saw him."

"Well enough." The princess turned to her husband and Jacques. "Now that things have calmed somewhat, how do we proceed from here?"

The prince opened his mouth. Jacques shot him a glare and said "Not helpful, Master," and the prince closed it again.

"I think," said Carolina unexpectedly, "based on what I heard before I left the ball, that sympathy seems to lie with Belle. No one blames her for refusing him, even though it would be a great match for her. They are too outraged at his impropriety in asking her before the crowd, when his advances were so clearly unwelcome and the proposal unexpected. I admire you for your restraint, by the way, Belle. I could tell you wanted badly to slap him, especially when he called you a 'mere peasant ward' in front of everyone."

The prince snorted. "She should have boxed his ears."

"She should _not_ have," said Jacques. "It would have caused more problems than it solved. I am proud of you, little mistress." There was a pause while the steward struggled with himself, but he stiffly added, "But he did deserve it."

"There, you see! Then why won't you let me—"

"Hush, husband," said Anna. "You will not challenge him for his impudence, not tonight or any other time. No one wants this to end with either you or he in the ground."

"I do. I won't have him for my heir. Not after this."

"He acted foolishly, but that's not enough to disinherit him," said Anna. "Or kill him in a duel. Your aunt will never forgive you if you kill one of her sons, no matter the reason. And what would all of us do if it was _you_ who was killed, my love?"

"I wouldn't lose," grumbled the prince, but his wife's words had taken the wind out of his sails and he seemed inclined to be more reasonable. Belle was grateful. As angry as she was with Antoine, she did not want any duels fought over her.

"Belle," said Carolina, "What do _you_ want?"

"I don't want to marry him," Belle said decisively. "I'm sorry, Papa, Jacques. I've considered it, and I'm not sure I'd do any good to the province as his wife. He doesn't seem the type to listen to anyone—he'll do as he pleases, and damn the consequences. And I can't undermine what limited authority he'll have by going behind his back. I have to follow my heart."

Jacques took a deep breath and let it out in a sigh that sounded almost like relief.

"And where is your heart leading you?" asked the prince quietly.

"I love Marc. I want to be _his_ wife."

"I knew it!" Carolina said exultantly. Anna smiled warmly, but she put a comforting hand on her husband's shoulder.

"I won't be gone forever, Papa," Belle said, pleading with him to understand. "I can visit, just as Amalia does. And we can write."

"It won't be the same," answered the prince. "It's hard to let you go, Belle, even to a man who deserves you. But in the end I just want you to be happy. If you think your future is with the lawyer boy, then I won't stand in your way."

Belle smiled. "I think you and Marc have more in common than you'd like to admit. If you give him a chance and get to know him, you might be friends someday."

"Perish the thought!" said the prince, but Belle could tell he didn't mean it.

"If Belle is going to be moving to the city in the future, then this may offer an opportunity," said Jacques. "Once she's gone, we could invite Lord Antoine for an extended stay. It is not too late for him to begin learning. Perhaps, given time, the outlook for the province with him on the throne will improve."

"You always say the things I don't want to hear," complained the prince. "We lose Belle and in exchange we get the man I could have handily killed tonight for disrespecting her. No, I don't have a better idea," he said when both Jacques and Anna opened their mouths. "I think it is one worth pursuing."

"Then I think we should all wait a day or two to let things simmer down before any permanent decisions are made," said Anna. "For now, I will go see if Amalia needs anything, and then return to the ball. Michel, you should come with me." She squeezed the prince's shoulder. "Carolina? Do you wish to stay or finish the ball?"

"I'll stay," said Carolina quickly. "If it's all right with Belle."

Belle nodded.

"I should make certain everything in the kitchens is running smoothly," said Jacques. He patted Belle's head and slipped out.

"Thank you," Belle said to Anna. She nodded. The prince came over and kissed Belle's forehead, and then the two of them also left.

Belle felt as though she were a marionette whose strings had been cut. Exhaustion washed over her, and she sagged in her seat.

"You can go to bed if you like," said Carolina. "I'll be right out here if you want to talk, until I go to bed myself. I promise won't leave until I'm sure you're sound asleep."

"Have I ever told you how much I appreciate having you and Amalia as sisters? Sometimes I wonder how I ever got along without the two of you." Belle got up and hugged Carolina with all her strength.

Carolina returned the hug just as fiercely. "And you fit right in between the two of us as if you were always there, Belle. You're practical enough to ground Amalia when she needs it and dreamy enough not to look at me askance for my oddities. I'll miss you as much as I miss Amalia, but perhaps now that I'm older Mama and _Beau-pére_ will let me visit now and then. At least you won't be at court all the time like Amalia—they say I'm not old enough to be there without one of them as a chaperone."

Remembering her own debut, Belle said wryly, "They're probably right. There are some things I saw that I wish I could unsee. Don't tell Amalia, but I'm glad Marc lives in the city and not at court. It's close enough to visit fairly easily, but not so close that we'll be surrounded by all of the gossip and drama and constant worrying about what people will think that comes with court life. I know she thrives on it, but I find it terribly draining. And speaking of which, I think I will go to bed. Good night."

"Good night. I'll be out in your parlor sketching if you need me. Or I may borrow one of your books."

Belle nodded in agreement and Carolina retreated from the bedroom. The last thing Belle remembered was pulling back the covers.

-0-0-0-

The two days after the ball were very quiet. The guests all returned to their homes, including Belle's sister Amalia and her husband. No one who remained in the castle's household seemed much inclined to leave their rooms that first day. Marc would have liked to see how Belle fared, but he didn't blame her for avoiding everyone. He didn't feel like talking much even to his own family. Antoine's surprise proposal had taken them all off-guard. He knew his mother, at least, had spent part of a day scolding Antoine and trying to get him to see the impropriety of what he had done. He had no idea whether she was having any luck.

Marc didn't know what to think. He hadn't believed Antoine to be so impulsive, but then, he had admitted truthfully to Belle that his brother was practically a stranger. He did know, however, that the manner of the proposal couldn't have been better calculated to guarantee Belle would refuse. If Antoine had bothered to get to know Belle at all, he would have realized that she would not appreciate being forced into the spotlight without warning. Perhaps his brother had thought that a girl so beautiful must naturally want all eyes upon her, but Marc knew Belle's beauty was largely unstudied—she spent very little time worrying about her appearance. Oh, she knew she was beautiful, but she viewed her looks as something to be tolerated, not celebrated, since she'd learned from experience that people tend not to take beautiful women seriously. She hated it when others presumed based solely on her appearance and background that she was a spoiled, frivolous girl only interested in grabbing attention, or worse, a grasping peasant out for whatever power she could come by. Antoine seemed to have assumed she was one or the other, or both, to do what he had done. Or perhaps he had only seen something he wanted and tried to secure it in the most expeditious manner he could think of. Either way, his rejection had been swift and humiliating, though privately Marc thought Belle had been restrained in her response. She had been firm, but she hadn't gone out of her way to embarrass Antoine any more than he was already likely to be.

On the second day after the ball, Marc had just been contemplating going to knock on Belle's door and see if she was willing to receive him when he heard hooves galloping up to the front door. As far as he knew they weren't expecting anyone else to visit for some time. Curious, he went towards the sound, meeting others in the corridors also drawn by the noise. By the time he reached the front doors he'd collected the prince and princess, his mother, Louise's husband Lord d'Hiver , Carolina, Belle, and his sisters Marguerite and Clothilde. Jacques was already moving to open the door when the little group arrived.

A sweat-streaked messenger staggered in. Behind him in the courtyard they could all see an exhausted horse. Lord d'Hiver was a big man, and he strode forward and caught the messenger bodily when the man looked as though he were going to fall over. Clothilde ran for a chair from the nearest parlor while Jacques dispatched a servant to the kitchens for water.

Once he was seated and had taken some gulps from the cup offered him, the messenger blurted, "Forgive me, your Highnesses. I was sent by the Count Honoré with instructions that I should bring Princess Anna back with me as soon as possible. Countess Amalia was taken with her pains on the road. They were near the estate and should have managed to reach it, but they sent me back to bring you with all speed."

Anna put a hand to her chest and looked at her husband. Her eyes were frightened and pleading. "We'll both go," the prince said firmly.

"Yes, by all means go," said the Duchess. "Don't worry about us. We'll entertain ourselves for a few days, and look forward to your return with good news."

It was determined that little Miranda and her nurse would also accompany the prince and princess, but everyone else would stay behind. Belle and Jacques would attend to anything within the castle or the province that couldn't wait until the prince returned. Belle would also serve as official hostess and regent should the need arise. Marc glanced at Belle to see how she would take such responsibility, but she hardly seemed fazed, being more concerned with the wellbeing of her stepsister.

The household flew into an uproar, and in a very short amount of time everything was ready for the departure. Marc stood in the background and watched Belle hug her father and stepmother hard, then give Miranda a peck on the cheek. Once she stepped back to let the others make their farewells, Marc came up behind her and subtly put a hand on her shoulder in reassurance. Belle glanced back, and when she saw who it was smiled a little and leaned into him. They stood that way until the carriage had rattled off and was out of sight beyond the gates.

"Are you all right?" Marc asked Belle quietly.

"I think so. I wish I could be there with Amalia, but she won't need the whole cohort of us hovering around and making a fuss. I'm of better use here. With any luck the child will be born healthy and all will be well."

"Quite right, my dear," said the Duchess, who had overheard. "Countess Amalia will need a few days of rest and quiet. It's been my experience that most first-time mothers want their own mothers or nurses to attend them and very few others. She is in good hands with Princess Anna. Let us go back inside, and perhaps we can entertain each other on the harpsichord or the guitar for a time."

Everyone agreed to this. The extended family—except for Louise, who was indisposed again, and Antoine, who still hadn't left his room—spent a quiet day singing and playing music. After the children went to bed Belle organized the adults into a dramatic reading of Molière's _Tartuffe_. This was a great success and had everyone laughing. No one had much time to worry or dwell on the conspicuous absence of the prince and princess.

"Such a warm and gracious spirit that girl has," said the Duchess to Marc as they made their way upstairs to bed. "Intelligent, and knows her own mind. The two of you are quite well suited."

Marc stopped dead. His mother looked back over her shoulder and raised an eyebrow. "Why the surprise? I have eyes and ears."

"But…I thought perhaps, because Antoine…"

"She is a bad fit for _him,_ for many reasons. And his haste and indecorous proposal were an embarrassment to us all. I believed I've impressed upon him the error of his ways. _You_ , I trust, will not be so injudicious, and will at least have the sense to be sure of the girl's goodwill before you proceed."

"I…I think I already have it, though I have yet to put the question to her formally. I do have permission from her father to court her."

"Good, good." The Duchess nodded thoughtfully. "I've always admired her. She will make a most excellent daughter-in-law, and I believe she will be a fine wife for you. You need a softer touch, son. Sometimes you are too serious."

"I'm glad you approve," said Marc. In truth, he hadn't been certain what his mother's reaction to his plans for the future would be. He knew she liked Belle a great deal, but he hadn't been certain how she would feel about any of her children marrying a peasant, no matter how they were otherwise qualified. Her negative reaction to Antoine's proposal hadn't boded well. He was glad his fears had proved to be unfounded.

"Of course, my dear. I hope the two of you will be very happy." She pulled his face down so that she could kiss his cheek—the height difference between them was considerable. "Good night, son."

"Good night, Mother."

She walked away down the hall towards her own rooms. Marc smiled fondly after her. He and his mother weren't close and never had been—it was his eldest brother Louis on whom she had most doted, if she had doted on any of her children—but in moments like this he didn't doubt that she loved him in her own way. She had just never been sure what to do with him, her bookish boy who always had his spectacles perched on his nose. It was she who had convinced his father to let him study for the legal profession instead of sending him to the army even though it meant he would ever after have to concern himself with making money like a _bourgeois_ , something both the Duke and Duchess normally disdained. She'd always wanted his happiness, even if she didn't understand the path he followed.

Marc went to bed feeling much more cheerful than the previous night and woke the next morning still in a good mood. He came down to breakfast to find, to his surprise, Belle and Antoine sharing breakfast in the family dining room in apparent amicability. They were seated at opposite ends of the table from one another and Belle had propped up a book next to her porridge while Antoine brooded over his eggs, but the silence between them was not uncomfortable. Marc took a place across from Belle and saw that she was buried in the _One Thousand and One Nights_ again before she put the book aside to smile at him. They hadn't had much time for pleasant greetings before the Duke and Duchess also joined them, followed by Carolina, Marguerite and Clothilde.

Food was served to the newcomers, and silence fell again as everyone started on their meals. Belle, who was nearly finished, said, "I was thinking of taking a drive into the local village today. Apparently some traveling players have come to town and I'd like to see them. Will anyone else accompany me?"

"I will," said Marc.

"I, too," said Antoine, startling all of them. Marc glanced at Belle, who shrugged acceptance. Apparently she'd made as much peace with Antoine's previous behavior as she was going to.

"No, thank you," said Marguerite. "I'd as soon not get my petticoats dirty. I think I'll stay and practice on the harpsichord. I found a songbook in your library the other day that I want to try."

"We promised the younger ones we'd help them learn a new dance today, so they can go to balls when they're old enough," said Clothilde, gesturing at Carolina, who nodded confirmation.

"Surely it would be more appropriate to ask these players to perform for us here," said the Duke.

"But I would so hate to have them not be up to your Grace's standards," said Belle smoothly. "After all, you are used to the finest entertainers in Europe at court. These are merely country players. We'll watch them and decide then whether we should invite them to the castle to perform for everyone here."

"A lovely idea," agreed the Duchess. "I'll accompany you, so that I can tell your parents you were properly chaperoned."

Marc saw the tips of Belle's ears turn pink, but she maintained her composure. "Thank you." Carolina stifled a giggle behind one hand.

Thus, changed into plainer clothes, Belle, Marc, Antoine and the Duchess set off in one of the family carriages. Less than an hour later they were drawing up to the village square. The villagers, to Marc's amusement, weren't sure where to look, the final preparations the players were making to their stage before their performance, or the fancy carriage. They largely relaxed when Belle appeared, however. Apparently she was a well-known entity here. The village fathers made their way through the crowd to kiss her hand and receive a warm greeting before they were introduced to the rest of the noble party. Chairs were found for the Duchess and Belle which were placed on the porch of the chief alderman's house so that they could have a good view raised above the heads of the crowd while seated. Marc and Antoine stood behind them. As soon as they were settled, the play began.

While the players weren't the best Marc had ever seen, he had to admit he was spoiled by the plays he'd occasionally seen in the city. What these players lacked in raw talent they made up for in enthusiasm and willingness to resort to improvisation when they weren't getting the response they wanted from the crowd. Even Antoine chuckled loudly several times at their sly asides, and once the Duchess let out an unladylike gaffaw.

The performance was nearing its end when there was a commotion on one side of the crowd. Marc frowned as the noise grew louder. The players tried at first to recapture attention, but then they abruptly stopped as well as someone—Marc couldn't see much about them through the wall of bodies around the person—was dragged forward towards the stage.

"Thief!" The cry went up, and this time everyone understood. Belle shot out of her seat and starting making her way forward. Marc went after her instinctively, not sure exactly what her plan was. He found Antoine also at his heels, and with a glance back saw his mother staying behind and out of the mob's way.

The entire crowd was shouting and waving fists at this point. Belle deftly wove her way through it towards the stage, even ducking a flying elbow or two with all of her dancer's skill. Marc and Antoine, being larger and not endowed with Belle's quicksilver grace, had to start shoving and using arm blocks learned in boyhood fencing lessons if they wanted to keep up. Fortunately, the further they went, the more people realized who it was pushing them out of the way and moved themselves.

When they reached the base of the stage, several members of the crowd had dragged an old woman up onto it. She looked terrified and was cowering and covering her face. From the faded, colorful clothes she wore, she likely belonged to the players' troop. The younger players had huddled onto a back corner of the stage, their faces drawn. One of the bigger men strode forward, however, his face set.

"Take your hands off my mother," he demanded.

"We caught this creature pickpocketing!" said one of the villagers. He gave the old woman's arm a shake for emphasis. "She's a thief!"

The player man closed his eyes for a moment. "She's old, sir. She doesn't remember things anymore, doesn't know what she's doing. Let her go."

"You're all dirty thieves!" cried another of the men surrounding the woman. "Tell us why we shouldn't hang her and drive the lot of you from our land right now!"

"You'll do no such thing," snapped Belle. She'd climbed the stage steps by this point and was stalking forward. "Unhand her this instant."

To Marc's mild surprise, the men obeyed. They backed away, though they still kept a loose ring around the old woman in case she tried to escape. "But, Mademoiselle…" the man who'd wanted to hang the woman started to protest.

Belle strode right up to him. He wasn't a particularly tall man, so when she got in his face and leaned in they were eye to eye. "Shame on you for suggesting taking justice into your own hands," she said. "You know how theft in this province is to be handled. She must be accused before the prince and evidence presented!"

"I say she should be hanged!" said Antoine. By this point he had climbed the stage and stood a few paces behind Belle. "I am the heir to this province, and I say we should end this matter quickly. We shouldn't have to wait for my cousin to return. Then the rest of these people can get back to their peaceful lives, undisturbed by this riffraff."

Belle slowly turned to face Antoine. Marc, who had also climbed the stage, had to restrain himself from taking a step back, and he wasn't the one who had earned her wrath. White-hot rage boiled from Belle's every feature, from the top of her head to the bows on her shoes. The crowd got very quiet.

"How dare you," Belle said quietly, but her voice carried clear in the sudden silence. "How dare you usurp my father's authority? How dare you judge without even hearing the facts? You might be the heir, but you aren't the prince yet, Antoine de Guise. And in his absence, may I remind you, it is _me_ he left to arbitrate as I see fit."

"But you're only a woman, and a peasant yourself," said Antoine. "How can you presume to judge?"

Marc could have slapped a hand over his brother's mouth to muzzle him. It appeared now the true Antoine had appeared after being hidden so long.

Belle took a step forward. "The Prince de Bourbon left me as his regent. Apply to your mother or brother for confirmation; they were there when he left me my charge. In this matter, _I_ have authority, not you, despite my birth. And I say, you should step off the stage, or I may order your arrest right here for attempting to commandeer the prince's authority for yourself."

Antoine gasped in indignation. "You can't do that!"

"Oh, no?" Belle folded her arms. "I don't see anyone stepping up to help you."

Marc took his own cue and went around Antoine to stand beside Belle, making it obvious who he supported. "She has the authority, Antoine," he said. "I confirm it, with my standing in the legal profession."

Antoine clenched his fists and glared at them. Marc was just beginning to wonder whether he should have brought a sword to defend both himself and Belle when Antoine shouted, "You've humiliated me again, you witch!" and took a few steps backwards towards the stairs.

"You have done that yourself," said Belle, but Marc was fairly certain his brother had not heard.

The old woman's son stepped up tentatively. "We are obliged to you, Lady," he said with a rough bow. "And to you, my lord," he said to Marc. "I am sure we can resolve this matter peacefully, and then we will be on our way."

Belle nodded, and glanced at the villagers still on the stage. "Now, who wishes to present evidence against this woman?" Two of the men stepped forward. Belle turned towards them, and suddenly out of the corner of his eye Marc saw a blur of motion. He realized half a second too late that it was Antoine, who had hurled himself back on the stage. He had something in his upraised hand, clearly planning to strike Belle when her back was turned.

"No!" Marc leapt forward, already knowing he was going to arrive too late.

"Enough!" This declaration, surprisingly, came from the old woman. She clapped her hands loudly.

And everything...stopped. Marc looked around in shock. Everyone in the village save himself, Belle, the old woman, her son, and, surprisingly, his own mother, was frozen. Not a sound was made, not a finger twitched.

Marc and Belle stared at one another, then turned to the figure of Antoine, halted in a pose that might have been comical had his expression not been so enraged. Belle took a step away from him and into Marc's arms. He pulled her close, reassuring himself that she was all right and also that he was still awake.

"What is going on?" called the Duchess as she made her way through the utterly still crowd. She gave unnerved looks to the bodies surrounding her.

The man sighed and looked at his mother. "Well, Mama? Are you going to explain?"

The old woman cackled. "All in good time. All in good time." She waited until the Duchess had joined them onstage.

"You're an enchantress, aren't you?" Belle asked warily.

"Indeed yes, Cursebane," said the woman. "There aren't many of us left in this enlightened age, but somehow without a drop of magic of your own you've managed to find yourself connected to the happy resolution of several different stories. All of us have heard of you by now."

"Cursebane?" repeated the Duchess.

"It's a long story, Mother," said Marc.

"That is it, Monsieur _Grenouille_ ," said the old woman cheerfully. "And I'll let you tell it later. For now, we have a few things to sort out."

"Were you pickpocketing from the villagers?" Belle asked. "To what purpose?"

"Why, a test, of course. You do know how your father came by his curse, yes?"

Belle paled. "Are you the Enchantress who cursed him?"

"No, no. That was my twin sister. She's _much_ more vindictive than I, cursing the entire household along with the offending prince."

"Oh dear," Belle muttered under her breath, so that only Marc could hear.

"Luckily, you both passed the test. You acted honorably to save an old woman's life, and see that justice was done. Him, however," here she waved at Antoine, "acted with too much haste and prejudice. Not exactly the qualities one hopes to find in a future ruler. I think I'll be doing this province a favor, sparing them from being stuck with _him_."

"But...oh, no!" Belle had clearly grasped the implications. "No, please don't! I'm sure he can change. Anyone can change, given the chance."

"That's true. But they have to want to first. The way things are going with this one, that's likely never going to be the case. And why should it? He's been handed everything in life. Though it is sweet of you to defend him even though he clearly meant you harm." She gestured, and Antoine unfroze. He stumbled forward and barely managed to catch himself, since to him it must have appeared as though his target had vanished and reappeared a few feet away. Once he'd gotten his feet under him again, he stood up sharply, looking at the small group standing on the stage watching him, and then at the frozen crowd beyond. He frowned in puzzlement. "What is happening?"

"I also find myself very confused," said the Duchess. "Why do you three keep going on about curses and enchantresses? What has happened to the villagers?"

Belle and Marc looked at each other helplessly. Marc felt utterly powerless to prevent what was coming next. But a desperate idea occurred to him. "Antoine," he said very quietly. "I think perhaps it might behoove you to apologize."

"Apologize?" Antoine sneered. "To whom?"

"To Belle, for attacking her, for one. To this old woman, for urging for her to be hung without trial, for another."

"They're peasants! Why would I apologize to them for anything?"

Marc closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He knew his brother had just sealed his fate. He felt a pat on his arm and looked down to find the enchantress's son standing there. "It was a noble thought, and a good thing for a brother to do. But my mother is right about one thing. People have to want to change before they can. If they are too blinded by their own stubbornness and arrogance, than they must learn by what they bring on themselves."

Belle made an unhappy noise and pressed against Marc, who clutched her close to steady them both. The Enchantress stepped up to Antoine. "I think I've got the perfect punishment that I hope will help you learn your lesson. Since you put so little stock in patience and no value on peasants' lives, you can spend the next fifty years among them—as a tree right here in the main square. Perhaps when you emerge you'll have learned from experience how difficult and meaningful the lives of peasants are, and have gained some of a tree's patience and wisdom as well." She reached forward and touched his forehead with a finger that sparked. The Duchess gasped.

There was a rumble and up through the stage burst the growing trunk of a tree. It quickly enveloped Antoine, who didn't have time for more than a puzzled look before his face vanished within it. The tree continued to shoot up towards the sky for another minute more before reaching its full height some twenty feet above the ground. It gave a shiver, and a full set of leaves burst from its bare branches.

There was a long silence, punctuated by ragged breathing from the two de Guises and Belle, and the slight rustle of the new tree's leaves. Marc could feel Belle trembling slightly in his arms. His mother gave a small moan, and both he and Belle left their embrace and jumped towards her when her knees began to sag. Between the two of them they caught her and kept her upright.

"There. A nice, sturdy oak tree." The Enchantress actually seemed pleased. She looked over at the little family group supporting the Duchess and had the grace to be a bit concerned. "Not to worry, he's all right, safe and sound in there for the next fifty years. No one will chop him down—I've left a bit of magic to make anyone who considers it forget about it if they come within range of the tree. He'll change back into a man in fifty years to the day." She quirked a small smile at Belle. "This isn't a spell you or anyone else can break, Cursebane. It will end on its own when the time limit has run its course."

"This isn't what I wanted," said Belle. "I was angry with him, and he doesn't deserve to take my father's place on the throne, but I never asked for this. I never wanted anyone else to suffer the way Papa, Marc, and all the others at the castle suffered under their curses."

"I know. It's part of what makes you so extraordinary, in both the human and magical communities. I did my best, but sometimes we have to be harsh to teach someone a lesson. And you may not know this given your history with magic, but we do sometimes reward the worthy. A kind orphan girl longing to escape her cruel stepmother, a clever tailor who wants to better himself. Or a younger son better suited to rule than his brothers." She didn't look at Marc, but a shiver went down his spine anyway. His mind, still overwhelmed by all that had just happened, was just starting to grasp at the implications.

"You should get her home," the Enchantress's son said, coming over to help Marc prop up the Duchess. "When she's less in shock, you can try to explain."

"Don't we still have to try you for theft?" Belle asked the Enchantress.

The Enchantress laughed. "Don't worry about that. I'll smooth it all over, never you mind how. The money will be back with its rightful owners, no one will be harmed, and we'll leave the district by tonight. You have my word. But my son is right. You should all go home. Things will start again once you're in your carriage and safely away." She gestured at the still-frozen crowd.

Marc and Belle, assisted by the Enchantress's son, managed to escort the Duchess to the carriage and bundle her inside. Then they climbed in themselves. As promised, the coachman sprang to life, apparently showing no surprise that Belle and their guests were already inside. He snapped the reins, and they began to rattle down the road. The Enchantress's son raised a hand in farewell, and then he and the entire village vanished around a bend in the road. Marc could see just a glimpse of the top of Antoine's tree before it was swallowed up as well.

-0-0-0-

It was a very sober party to which the prince and princess returned a few days later. Everyone in the castle wore some version of mourning black. Jacques, of course, had taken the lead in devising a plan as soon as everything had been explained to him. He had proposed that the story be that their carriage had overturned while crossing the spring-swollen river that ran between the castle and the village, flinging Lord Antoine into the deep, rushing water. This neatly explained his disappearance and the conspicuous lack of a body, as well as the party's obvious shock and horror when the Duchess, Marc and Belle returned without him. To bolster the story, Jacques had even sent men to search the river downstream but of course no trace was ever discovered. The players left the district peacefully in the night, and Belle was not inclined to try to find them.

The Duchess had remained largely in seclusion since that day, after Marc, Belle and Jacques had told her the story of their previous encounters with magic. She had absorbed the entire thing soberly, though privately Belle was unsure of how much of it she had really taken in, at least initially, given the series of incredible shocks she had already endured. Marc had been in to see her a few times at her request and had sat with her while she alternately cried or stared at the ceiling. She asked him no further questions about magic or curses. But by the time the prince and princess came home with the happy news that Amalia had been safely delivered of a healthy son, she was well enough to attend the gathering where they were told the whole story of what had happened in their absence. Anna immediately set herself to comforting the Duchess in every way she could manage. Belle knew the death of Anna's first husband had been in some way connected to magic, though she had never asked for the details, and was confident that if anyone could understand the Duchess's state of mind, it would be her beloved stepmother.

When he wasn't attending to his mother, Marc often sought out Belle. They would go for long walks in the gardens, or hole up in the library for hours sitting side-by-side reading their favorite books. No one, not even Carolina or Louise, asked them where they'd been. Everyone was obviously dealing with Antoine's sudden loss in their own way and were not much inclined to interfere with anyone else's.

It was in the library that the prince, Anna, Jacques and the Duke and Duchess found them a week after Antoine had been cursed. Belle could tell from the looks on all of their faces that something serious needed to be discussed. She and Marc exchanged glances, set aside their books, and rose together to bow and curtsy.

"We need to talk to both of you," the prince said without preamble. "Lord Marc, with the presumed death of your elder brother Lord Antoine, the line of succession is clear. As Count Louis is set to inherit your father's title and estate upon his death, and in the absence of a male heir born of myself and my wife, you are now the legal heir to this province."

Marc nodded tightly. It was obvious this was not news to him. Belle herself hadn't considered what Antoine's 'death' meant for Marc beyond grieving for a brother, but now she chided herself for not realizing it earlier. She had been so wrapped up in the immediate aftermath of Antoine's curse that she had not really bothered to think long-term. Of course Marc was now the heir, since they all had to maintain the façade that Antoine had died. And that meant…

Well, many things would be different.

"As heir," said the Duke, picking up from his nephew, "You will of course be expected to give up your legal practice in the city. It is beneath the dignity of a future prince to deal in such common things."

Marc tilted his head down in respect, but he said, "I crave your indulgence, Father, your Highnesses, but I would rather not."

"What?" The Duke blinked. This was obviously not part of script he'd imagined.

"I accept my duties and position as heir," said Marc. "But in the meantime, I would like to continue my practice, at least for a few years. I find it difficult to imagine idling my time away, waiting for the hour my royal cousin passes so that I can inherit. Since he is still a man in his prime," here he nodded to the prince, "I anticipate it will be quite a few years before I can call myself Prince Marc. My mind is not used to being without purpose, and my heart cannot countenance being unable to assist those in need if I am able to be of service."

The older generation looked at one another in surprise. At last, the prince said, "We will need to discuss it, but I believe it might be possible. It's unprecedented, certainly. You won't earn yourself any friends at court by continuing to work like a commoner."

Marc shrugged. "I imagine it will cause quite the stir among the gossips. All the more reason to stay well away until they've found something else to catch their attention."

One side of the prince's mouth quirked in a smile. "Very well then. We will discuss the details at a later time." His eyes flicked to Belle. "There is one more matter we came to speak to you about. You asked me not long ago to court my ward. Do you still wish to marry her?"

Marc and Belle looked at each other. Even though they hadn't talked about marriage again, Belle felt they had only grown closer from everything that had happened. She was more certain than ever that she wanted to marry this man, even leaving aside that he was now her father's heir and all of the reasons she had had to consider Antoine had been transferred to him in an instant.

Marc took Belle's hand. "I do still wish to marry her, if she will have me."

Belle's heart swelled and something warm and happy settled in her stomach. She couldn't keep the smile from her face as she said, "I will, if you'll have me."

"With all my heart." Marc brought her hand up to his lips and kissed it. Belle remembered the first time he had done so, his attempt at thanking her for lifting his curse. The gesture had been as sincere then as it was today.

All of the adults looked genuinely pleased, even Belle's Papa. The Duchess and Anna came forward to kiss Belle's cheeks and formally wish her well.

"We will, of course, wait an appropriate time to mourn before planning a wedding," Belle assured the Duchess.

"Thank you, my dear," the Duchess said.

"I had actually been waiting for the opportune moment to return something to you, Belle," said Marc. "It seems this might be as good a time as any. Wait here."

"What?" Belle was puzzled, as was everyone else judging by their expressions.

Marc vanished out the door, and returned a short time later with something behind his back. To Belle's surprise, he knelt before her. "I found these on the stairs. Since you were once upset about losing a hairpin, I thought you might want them back." He brought out her embroidered saffron dance slippers, the ones she had been wearing the night of the ball. She vaguely remembered kicking them off on her way back to her room. She'd been so wrapped up in her fury with Antoine she had forgotten them entirely.

Belle laughed, her first real laugh in over a week. She allowed Marc to unlace her usual shoes and slide her dance slippers onto her feet instead while the others looked on, their expressions ranging from baffled to amused. Marc grinned up at her, and she extended her hands to pull him to his feet. He spun her around once, and then the group scattered to share with the rest of the family the good news of their engagement. Belle and Marc snuck a kiss while their parents' backs were turned. Jacques saw them, but he winked and said nothing.

Belle wore those shoes for the rest of the day, ignoring that they clashed with her unadorned blue gown. Wearing them, she felt lighter on her feet, as though the weight that had descended on her the night Antoine proposed had lifted. She still felt guilty for any role she might have played in what had happened to him, but she comforted herself that his curse would not be forever. Perhaps he would emerge a wiser man in fifty years' time, as the Enchantress seemed to think. She, Belle, might even see him again and be able to make amends, if she were so fortunate to live that long. By then…by then she likely would be the princess of the province, by Marc's side as his adviser and co-ruler. Or perhaps the dowager princess with one of their sons—or nephews if they had none—ascended to the throne. The future suddenly seemed rife with possibility.

 _Me—a princess,_ she thought. _The illiterate peasant girl from nowhere, once abused by her own father and rarely allowed to leave our tiny cottage. Magic turned everything upside down, and I found an enormous family who loves me. Now I'm going to be the wife of one of the best men I know, and one day help him rule this province. In the meantime, I get to move to the city and perhaps have an adventure or two while we're helping people with their legal troubles, honing our skills for the day we return and mete out justice here. This is beyond the wildest dreams I ever had, if I had even tried to dream of the future when I was young._

 _Princess Belle de Guise. I think I might like the sound of that._

* * *

 _Author's Note: So yeah, this final bonus chapter got a little out of control ("a little?" I hear you say). But this is the last of the ones I had planned, so this should be it for this story unless for some reason I have a brilliant idea sometime in the nebulous future on what to do with Antoine when he un-trees in fifty years. At the moment the concept is there for a story like that but not a plot, so I may or may not write it. No promises. This is definitely the conclusion of Belle and the prince's story threads._

 _As a fun thought exercise that also serves as a thank-you for sticking with the story this long, I challenge you to a little game of hunt-the-quote. I scattered some quotes from the Disney movie, and a few other books and movies, throughout this story and the bonus chapters. See if you can pick out some of them!_

 _Wedding planning in the real world is coming along apace. It's an odd feeling when a story you're writing intersects with your own life-in this case when first the prince and then Belle have to contemplate with whom they want to spend the rest of their lives while I prepare for my own wedding._

 _I guess this is farewell again until I come up with some other crazy idea to share with all of you. Thanks for being my faithful readers who keep coming back even when it's been a long time between new stories. You're the best, and you know it!_

 _Over & out,_

 _SamoaPhoenix9_


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